


If I Can't Have You

by Deathsdoll



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Control, Dominance/submission, F/M, Maledom/Femsub, Rape, Stalker, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathsdoll/pseuds/Deathsdoll
Summary: My fingers came up and gently trailed along the black marker marring my skin. My eyes lowered. It wasn’t the large, black, boldly displayed letters that spelled out the word WHORE across my chest that had me truly crippled with fear in that moment, but the letters printed beneath them, below my belly, across my lower abdomen… large, menacing... a word with more far reaching implications than the simple derogatory insult someone who would drug and rape a woman might throw at them. No, this was far more unsettling, far more frightening. Drawn across my lower bellow, just above the neatly groomed curls nestled between my legs, written in black maker, in capital letters, was the word MINE.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 77
Kudos: 155





	1. One

I have made a lot of mistakes in my life and done things I’m not proud of, and I’ve probably made decisions that would cause most people to pull their hair out in frustration but those mistakes and those decisions have made me who I am and those decisions have led me to him. You can judge, you can think your dark, contemptuous thoughts and call me weak and call me a stupid bitch and say it’s sick and… look. I really don’t care. I need to get this out, to make sense of it in my own head, because if I’m honest, those thoughts I’m accusing you of… I have those same thoughts myself. I cannot possibly reconcile the thoughts in my head with the feelings in my heart, so this is going to be my poor attempt to do so. So in the end, think what you will and know, I’ll probably share many of your own thoughts, but it won’t matter, because no matter what I think or feel, it all comes back to him and I don’t care how much I might hate myself. As long as I’m with him. I’m happy. 

I’ll start here. I’m highly intelligent, I’m hardworking, I’m motivated. I have a great image of the person I am and the person I can be. I don’t seem to have the ability to ever fully achieve these dreams. Throughout my entire life, I’ve had a problem with social interactions. That doesn’t mean that I’m inept, but I’m awkward and I overthink. I get so focused on what I might say and how that might be interpreted that I stop thinking about what the situation actually calls for. Then I end up sitting there with long silences, looking uncomfortable and making everyone else uncomfortable around me. Or, I come out with short, abrupt, safe responses that once again, are awkward, leaving everyone around me uncomfortable. And let me be clear, this has nothing to do with some sort of childhood trauma. There’s no big story as to why I’m so fucking awkward. I just am. 

I think the only thing that has kept me from being an absolute social pariah are my looks. Now, I’m not saying I’m gorgeous or a model or anything like that. I’m just a bit overweight. Nothing drastic, but I work fourteen hours days nearly seven days a week. I think the only reason I’m not heavier is because the sheer magnitude of stress I suffer on a daily basis prevents me from eating as much as I could otherwise. But I’ve got nice skin, I have straight white teeth, I’m of average height, and I have hair the color of burnt caramel. I’ve been told it is very pretty. So, I might not be the woman men elbow eachother out of the way to get to at the the bar, but I’m pleasant enough to look at that, despite my awkwardness, people will pop in their heads to say good morning or good night, and I always get invitations to the group outings. It’s out of sympathy, not because anyone actually cares or wants me there. I just never go. Unless of course, Nicholas makes it mandatory.  _ Team building. Morale boosting.  _ That’s what he calls it. I call it absolutely fucking bullshit. 

So, in a nutshell, that’s who I am. I think it’s important you know this before we begin. You might not understand, but please try to understand, I don’t make decisions like other people do and never did. 

That’s all I really want to say about that. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out yourself. 

* * *

I work for a “big four” accounting company. I don’t feel the need to say the name here. I’m a junior associate working in the mergers and acquisition out of the Boston office. I’m on the state and local tax team. In the business, it’s just called SALT. When one business wants to buy another, part of the due diligence that they have done is to find out what the target company’s tax exposure is. The Fed teams job is easy. Federal tax doesn’t change based on a state. My team has fifty states to go through and more often than not, a company will have  _ just  _ enough reach into a state that it’s not entirely clear if that state has the right to impose their tax law on the goods and services sold within their borders. Some deals are easy, most are not. In many cases, a company will have operated in a state, but never filed taxes in that state. If that company were selected for a state audit, in some cases, that company could have back taxes owed from about $100,000 to 5 million. That was my biggest deal. Some company based in New Hampshire that expanded far beyond the business owners' grandest imaginings. Funny little thing about New Hampshire, they don’t have a sales tax. This company operated in  _ every  _ surrounding New England state and most of the North East and never filed taxes. Needless to say, the buyer did not acquire the target after that report came out. 

I’ve worked here for just about a year and I’m set for a promotion at my next review. My company has a shockingly complex hierarchical system. My team has four junior associates and two seniors. The juniors are divided up on deals and report to their seniors. That senior will review the word done by the senior, and once all was in place, would run it up the line to the Manager. Once the manager reviewed the final reports from the senior, that was then run up further to the partner. The partner made the final review and stamped his name on it and it was sent out. 

My senior associate is Chris Johnston and he’s a lovely guy and a great supervisor. He’s attentive, understanding, and responsive. Even when there is something you should have known, he corrects you kindly, makes a joke, and then moves on without making you feel like you’ve almost single-handedly destroyed the multi-billion dollar company we worked for her. 

Unlike the other senior, Caleb Trent. Whenever I was placed on one of his deals, I felt something inside of me die. For those weeks, I hated coming into work. I’d get to work at 5:00am and leave the office at 10:00pm and it still wasn’t enough. My work was destroyed with every pass. Everytime I received the soft ding of my email from inside my little cubical, my insides tightened and turned and I wanted to cry. 

Chris would make the necessary changes and send the updated copy back to you with a note about what went wrong. If you make the same mistake again, he’ll address it with you. Caleb Trent is cold and cruel. He sends it back to you untouched. 

_ Needs work. - C.H. Trent, Esq.  _

It was a terrible feeling, because you had no idea what about it needed work. So you’d comb through it for hours, fixing whatever you think might need work, and you’d send it back. Then you’d wait in agony, try to work your other deals, and wait for that little  _ ding. _

_ Devil’s in the details. You should know this. -C.H. Trent, Esq.  _

And then he’d point out to you what you  _ should  _ have seen the first time, but he won’t tell you  _ how  _ to fix it. So then you spend another couple hours trying to fix it, but you don’t know how, because if you knew, you’d have done it right the first time. Then you’d send it back. Once again, waiting for that little  _ ding.  _ At this point, you prayed for that  _ ding.  _

It was when you saw him walking down the aisles of gray cubes that you knew you were in for it. His dark head would bob up and over, up and over as he walked, all six foot four of him, broad shouldered, dressed impeccably. He’d round the corner and stand there a moment, dark eyes glowering, emphasized by the little malicious smile dancing across his cruel mouth. 

“Orla?” he’d ask. He was the only one to call me Orla. I hated my name. Orla Ellen Wright. God, it was old and pretentious. I signed my emails O. Ellen Wright, Esq., and introduced myself as Ellie. Everyone respected that, except for Caleb. “A moment?” 

Every time. “Orla? A moment?” 

“Yes, Caleb?” was always my response. Cold. Wooden. He’d hold up a print out of my internal summary. He’d walk over and slap it down on my desk. When it got to the point that Chris came to your cube, he would either pull up an extra chair or kneel down by your desk to go through it with you. Caleb loomed. He stood, far too close, his expensive aftershave wafting up into your nostrils and making you feel like you were the smallest creature on planet Earth. I can’t say how it made others feel, but when he left, after slowly, methodically, and masterfully walking me through my work and showing me how absolutely substandard it was, I would blink back tears and struggle to pull myself back together the rest of the day. Some days, he’d have me do it to match the criticisms he had given me. Other days, he’d leave without giving me a deadline. I’d ask knowingly, “when do you need the updated report by?” 

“Don’t bother,” he’d respond cruelly and be on his way. Perhaps the worst part of this dressing down, was that he made sure to do it  _ loudly.  _ He had a loud voice as it was. Powerful, commanding. But his voice always seemed a bit louder when he was ripping a person to shreds. The only thing that got me through these moments is knowing, I’d heard him do it to others. It was simply my turn. 

He had left my office just over an hour before I received the congratulatory email that our manager, Nicholas Oakes, was being made partner, and who was the senior associate being made manager? Not the kind hearted, friendly Chris Johnston. 

No, the words that jumped out from this email had my feeling physically ill.

_ Caleb Henry Trent, Esquire.  _

My insides turned to liquid and I felt tears come to my eyes. After the half hour lecture I received earlier in the day, and now this news, my first thought was  _ well, I’ll fucking quit.  _ I stood from my desk, reaching out to retrieve my cell phone from my desk drawer, and I walked steadily to the bathroom. 

I got into the bathroom stall before the tears burst forth and I pressed my hands to my face to try and smother my sobs. No one else was inside and honestly, I’d come into the bathroom to the sounds of sobs many times in my two years here. It was the culture. You worked until you couldn’t stand it anymore, and you were either turned into a diamond under that pressure, you went home one night and ate a bullet, or you quite abruptly. People would come in and find your desk empty and management would never even mention our departure until someone asked at a team meeting. 

By the time I had finished, my makeup was ruined. I don’t wear a lot, what I wear is minimal, but that doesn’t mean that when I went to the mirror and saw my naked eyes that I was happy about it. But I splashed cool water on my face, straightened out my blouse, and left the bathroom. I returned to my desk to an email invite to a celebratory drink at the bar across the street from our building. The whole team was on it. Chris sent out the invite. Of course he did. Good, kind hearted Chris, who always smelled so good, and had a smile that would make you feel so warm and valued. Of course he would show such grace in defeat. Caleb and Chris had gone to Northeastern together. THey graduated together and got hired together. Both were up to this promotion. But it went to Caleb. 

I watched the acceptances come piling in as the day progressed until it was 5:15pm and I was the only one on the team that hadn’t responded. There was only a single no, and that was from Molly, who had a 8 week old baby at home. Her husband had quite work when the baby was born and Molly took off just enough time to recover from birth itself. She’d been back in work within two weeks but even Caleb didn’t bat an eye when she was in at 8:00am and out by 5:00pm every day. I had no such excuse. I heard everyone getting up and readying to head out. I hovered my cursor over the decline button. I almost clicked it when I heard a voice behind me. 

“Coming Ellie?” 

I turned to see Chris smiling at the entrance of my cube. I sighed and glanced over toward the elevators where there was a growing group of smiling people. Caleb stood among them, smiling happily, looking almost like a normal human being. Scott walked over and gave him a slap on the shoulder. 

“Do I have a choice?” I asked. Chris laughed. He was a handsome man. He was a year younger than Caleb, but he had not taken any time off between undergrad and law school. He had fair skin and bright grey eyes. He was tall as well. Chris would do well here. In another year or two, he’d get the promotion he deserved as well. 

“Of course you do,” Chris said. “Caleb won’t mind.” 

“It’s a bad look,” I said reluctantly. If he had said no, not at all, no one will think anything of me not going, I would have awkwardly made my excuses in the elevator, gave Caleb a stuttering congratulations, and then be on my way. But Chris gave a little grimace, accompanied by a shrug, and nodded. 

“Kinda,” he replied. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I followed Chris down the hall toward the growing group at the elevators. Some of the Fed team were coming. I was happy to see Anna and Chloe there. It was still very much a boys club where I work. I don’t think that I have ever been mistreated because I’m a woman, but it can make things a bit uncomfortable when you’re sitting there, surrounded by men speaking about things you couldn’t ever hope to relate to or understand. Or maybe that was just me, but I hated being the only woman in the room. 

Chloe flashed me a warm grin. She was stunning, intelligent as they came, and tough. In truth, Chloe was exactly who I wished I could be, but for whatever reason, I’d never be able to get out of my own goddamn head. But on top of it all, Chloe was one of the kindest people I know. She’d always pop her head in when events were being planned to make sure I received an invite and that I was in the loop. 

“Are you coming, Ellie?” she asked happily. I noted the turn of Caleb’s head in my direction. He was speaking to a small group, including two from SALT and three from the Fed team. One of those women being Amelia Harper, who I absolutely detested. While Chloe had it all, but would never do a thing to hurt another if she could avoid it, Amelia took a perverse joy in bringing people down, other women in particular. Caleb and her were by no means friends, but they were friendly, and it was clear to everyone who had eyes that she would let him take her home in an instant. 

“I am,” I answered. Chloe smiled, brilliant white teeth popping out from behind full red lips, which themselves popped out beautifully from her smooth, espresso colored skin. She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and jostled me. One of her braids draped over my shoulder and I could not help but smile as she did so. Chloe would be promoted within the year. That was certain. Maybe I could talk to her about being transferred from SALT to Fed? 

“That everyone then?” Calebn asked, eyes moving over the group. His eyes briefly met mine, and I lowered my eyes back to my shoes. I noticed a scuff on the toe of my cream colored shoe. I noted how dingy they looked in comparison to Chloe’s black pumps. My cheeks burned. We split into two elevators. I thanked the lord I ended up in the elevator with Chloe, Anna, and Chris. The rest, two guys named Mark and Peter, who were junior associates of Caleb, nestled in the corner. I heard Mark mutter to Peter, “ _ say goodbye to our fucking lives. Never going to be able to see my family again.”  _

Peter replied, “ _ I barely see my family as it is. See you guys more than my own kid. Might just fucking quit.”  _

Mark answered, “ _ hundred thousand reasons you won’t.”  _

I don’t think they thought anyone could hear them. Everyone else was chatting happily. No one would dare say those words to anyone who they didn’t trust implicitly. I certainly wouldn’t say anything, but I could end their careers with a word to Caleb. My stomach churned but I felt a bit better. I don’t think I was alone at all with my distress over this new development. And what Mark said at last was true. Hundred thousand reasons says you won’t. We got paid well, but we sold our souls for it. 

The elevator doors opened. The other elevator had beaten us down, but they were waiting outside for us. I followed the group from a short distance behind, looking down the street and gazing after my T-stop longingly. I just wanted to go home and cry, sleep, and wake up tomorrow and hope this was all just a terrible nightmare. 

We got into the bar and we all had to crush in on eachother. It was a typical Boston bar. Small, old, Irish. The foyer was narrow and I somehow found myself pressed very close to Caleb. I could smell his aftershave and it made me feel ill. My heart rate increased and I felt nauseous. I cannot tell you how much I hated him, how his closeness made me feel. Even the smell of him, the heat of him, I was struck with the same feeling I had when he leaned over me to jab at my report and walk me through it with unnecessary cruelty, just loud enough for everyone else around to hear in painful detail, my own failings. 

“So, you’re going to celebrate this weekend?” Amelia asked him. I could see her chewing on her lip, coated with pretty pink lip gloss that I stopped wearing when I got out of the seventh grade. 

“No, I’ll work. I have a botched internal summary I have to fix.” 

I closed my eyes and tried to take a calming breath. That comment was made for my benefit. There was no doubt about that. I rolled my lips in together. If I was braver, I would turn around and say something, but I’m not brave, and I can’t make myself talk. 

“Ellie, you coming?” 

I opened my eyes. It was Chloe and Chris still standing in the foyer. Everyone else had shuffled past me. I blushed and nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. 

“You’re looking a bit pale,” Chloe said to me. She touched my forehead. “You alright?” 

“Lot of long nights,” I said.  _ Botching internal summaries,  _ I thought darkly. Caleb was still right there. Just a few feet ahead. I wish I had the courage to say it. I wish I had made that little needling comment that let him know I’d heard it and I didn’t give a shit about it. 

“Amen to that,” Chloe said. I ended up sitting between Chloe and Mark. Mark got a pint of beer and drank it down so fast I wasn’t sure he even tasted it. Almost immediately, he got up to order a new one at the bar so he didn’t have to wait for the waitress. He hit my shoulder with the back of his hand a bit firmly and I looked over. 

“You want one, Ellie?” he asked. “I’m buying.” 

“No, thanks,” I said, oddly touched he thought to ask me and not anyone else. It occurs to me sometimes that people might not think I’m as awkward as I think I am, that I’m actually a likable person and people do genuinely enjoy being around me. Then that fleeting moment of clarity and confidence passes. He nodded glumly and headed toward the bar. The conversation was light and scattered. Chloe and Chris were talking about a particularly difficult client, but got into a bit of a heated debate when Chris blamed the Fed team for accepting budgets that SALT could not possibly meet. 

“In what world can my team do twenty five states with a fifty K budget?” Chris asked over his beer. 

“You’ve had ten deals with the same budget and always get it done,” Chloe said dismissively. 

“And kill ourselves to do it!” Chris cried in mock agony. 

“You’re not even going to go out a bit this weekend?” Amelia was asking Caleb. He was nursing a whiskey, but I’m not sure he’d taken more than three sips. 

“No plans to,” he answered dryly. It was with some pleasure that I realized he was, at least at the moment, entirely uninterested in Amelia. There was no flirtatious twinkle in his eyes or familiar grin. Just a grim face and dark eyes. He was staring off straight ahead, over the head of David from Compliance. 

“Well, I think I’m going to be going out with Stephanie from Compliance and a few of our friends if you change your mind. I haven’t been dancing in a long time,” I heard her say as I motioned to the waitress and tapped the side of my glass. The motion drew Caleb’s eyes, but he only glanced at the glass and then looked away again. He never met my gaze. 

“I’ll text you if I change my mind,” he answered. He raised his voice. “Wait till I’m partner, Chloe, no more of these ridiculous budgets!” 

Chloe gave a sarcastic look. “Wait till I’m partner, Trent, and I’ll accept even smaller ones.” 

“Oh God, Trent and Robinson both partners. We’re fucking doomed,” David said. 

“Like it affects you at all,” Trent said with a little sneer, though he appeared in good spirits and everyone took it as such. He twirled his whiskey glass absentmindedly in front of him. “Everyone else at this table works to the fucking bone when you get in at 9:00am every day and leave by 5:00.” 

“Damn right I do,” David laughed. “I’m never leaving compliance.” 

My second beer was placed down in front of me and I took a big sip. Mark returned by the time I had finished about half of the second beer. He placed a new one down beside me. I had hoped to graciously bow out after the second, but I smiled and thanked him all the same. 

“Good work on that Blackburn calc, by the way,” Anna said to Chris. I hadn’t eaten any of the food that had been ordered and I was feeling a bit light headed. I sipped cautiously at the third drink. “That was a quick turnaround.” 

“Oh, that was Ellie,” Chris said. “She’s my calc queen. Anyone needs a calc done, give it to her.” 

I smiled gratefully for the recognition and Chris winked at me. I hated doing the summaries, but my goodness, give me a calc and I couldn’t be happier. 

“Blackburn was complicated,” Caleb mused. That was the closest I think he would ever come to giving me any sort of recognition. I looked at Chris. If only he had been made manager. Even if I was then moved under Caleb as his junior, I could have managed it. 

“I’m going to run out for a smoke,” Amelia said standing. Someone other than her was getting praise. It was time to change the subject. 

“Oh, I could use one too,” Anna said. “Chlo?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Damon hates the smell. But what the hell. It’s only once in a blue moon. Ellie, want a smoke?” 

I looked up in surprise. I considered. I didn’t smoke, I never had, but I was anxious to belong. I wondered if this might push me closer into their circle. I really liked Anna, I really liked Chloe. I was about to say yes, but the hesitation was long enough that I heard Amelia invite Caleb and his rather harsh response of, “I don’t smoke. It’s a disgusting habit.” 

I glanced over at him very briefly and then found my head shaking when I looked back at Chloe. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” 

Chloe did not seem at all disturbed by the response and flashed a grin, promised to be back, and filed out with the other few smokers who were joining. I glanced at Caleb, wondering if there might be found some moment of commonality between us, some sort of recognition, and our gazes did meet, but there was not a single ounce of warmth or familiarity in his gaze. He looked back down at his whiskey and turned to listen to something Chris was saying. 

There was not a single sign that Chris was bitter or angry about being passed over for the promotion. I wish I could be like Chris. He was confident, sure of himself, competent, and when people came after him, it rolled right off his back like water on a duck’s back. I envied him immensely. 

I excused myself to run to the bathroom. I’m not sure if anyone heard me. My voice was so soft. I didn’t like speaking too loudly. It brought too much attention to me. I came back to find the others back from their smoke break. Everyone was ordering a new round and I caught the waitress in time to tell her I wouldn’t need another one and to close me out. 

“So soon?” Chris asked and I felt my cheeks heat slightly. He looked disappointed and I sucked in a short breath. I didn’t like disappointing people. I really, really hated it. Especially people I wanted to like me so badly. Chloe pouted. Was she just being nice or did she actually want me to stay? I wondered if, once I left, there would be some dark sniggering, and everyone would say how glad they were I finally left. Had I already worn out my welcome? I was just sitting here silently, contributing nothing. I could hardly be a bother, but I doubt anyone was all that invested in my presence anyway. 

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m tired and I have work to do this weekend.” 

Everyone said goodbye, stating their regret that I leave. I drained the last quarter of the beer that Mark had brought me. I didn't want him to think I was ungrateful for the gesture. I glanced one last time at Caleb. I said softly, “Congratulations,” but my voice was hoarse, so I cleared my throat and said more clearly, Congratulations, Caleb.” 

“Thanks,” he answered. He gave me a tight smile. I gave a nod and turned to leave. “Have a good night, Orla.” 

My face turned taut and my skin burned. I paused and hated myself for the moment of hesitation, the slight flinch. I did not look back. I pushed on. The only possible reason a person called you something you’ve said repeatedly you do not like to be called is to get under that person’s skin. I had no idea why he disliked me so much. What kind of twisted joy did he get out of calling me Orla? 

I got to the front of the restaurant and swayed slightly. I took a deep breath and blinked down the road. It was dark now, rain was coming pouring down onto the busy streets and I saw lights of red and white blurring in my vision. I blinked. This job had turned me into a lightweight. Three beers, empty stomach or no, would never had gotten to me like this in my law school days. 

“Ellie?” it was Chris coming out of the restaurant. “You alright?” 

“What?” I asked him. He took my elbow and gently pulled me under the awning. 

“You’ve been standing out here for like… ten minutes. Everything OK?” 

“Ten minutes?” I asked. I frowned and rubbed my eyes. “No, I uh… I need to get to Park Street.” 

“Yeah… here,” his hands were warm as he took my phone out of my hand. “I’ll get you an uber.” 

“No, I take the T all the time -”

I took a step closer to him. Unlike Caleb, Chris always smelled so good. I loved the smell of his cologne. 

“Here, I’m going to call an uber, wait here. I’ll close out and make sure you get home.”

“I’m fine,” I laughed. “But um…” I swayed a bit. “I could use the uber actually.” 

“Yeah, what’s your address?” 

I told him. It was a small studio that I paid about 1500 bucks a month for. Once it was called, he handed me my phone. 

“Alright. On its way. Hey, look, you’re swaying a bit. I’m gonna go close out. Just stay here.” 

“Chris, I’m fine.” 

Was I slurring? I couldn’t tell. 

“Stay here, Ellie,” he said curtly. “I’ll be right back.” 

He went back into the restaurant. I watched the little black car from down the grey roads. I checked the license plate, make and model. I saw it pull up. I glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t think I could stand the shame if Chris had to walk me home after three beers. It was just the stress of the day catching up to me. Once i got home, I’d be able to crawl into bed and pass out and not worry about dealing with the embarrassment of it all tomorrow. I jumped into the backseat and closed the door. The car pulled away and I fumbled with my phone. 

_ I just got into the uber. Thanks for your help! I’m all set though. Promise! See you Monday.  _

He texted back immediately.  _ You sure?  _

_ Positive. I was just a bit dizzy. All cleared up.  _

I saw dots and then nothing. Dots. Nothing. Then, the response.  _ Ok… try and enjoy your weekend.  _

After that, I really don’t remember much. 

-

I woke up to sunlight streaming in through the windows and I grimaced. My head was pounding violently. The light hurt my eyes. I opened my mouth. It was dry. Bone dry. And there was a foul taste in my mouth. My muscles ached and I groaned as I rolled over in bed and tried to shield my eyes from the sun. 

My stomach turned violently and I felt like I was going to be sick. I reached a phone out and groped for the side table. I couldn’t find my phone and I lifted my head. I glanced around and found my phone on the other side of the side table. I moaned and dropped my head to the pillow. 

What the hell had happened last night? I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I’d only had three beers though. Empty stomach or not… I hadn’t had a hangover like that in years. I felt another vicious wave of nausea as the pounding in my head pulsed violently. It slowly faded to the back into a constant but dull thud. 

The only thing that pushed me out of bed was my intense thirst. It was a deep, painful need. I pushed myself up and glanced into the kitchen. I breathed heavily as I stared at the sink. I licked my dry, chapped bottom lip. Slowly, a strange realization crept into my brain and I looked downward. 

I was naked. I sat and stared a long while. Why was I naked? I didn’t sleep in the nude and on nights I did come home drunk, I either changed or I fell asleep in my clothes. I’d never slept naked. 

But those thoughts came and went rapidly. The soreness between my legs sent another wave of nausea coursing through me. I’d had sex…. Or… I touched the dark smudges on my skin. What did that say…

I looked up. I didn’t see a single sign anyone else was here. My bathroom door was open. The light was off, but I could see it was empty. I was alone. I pushed myself up from the bed and crept toward the bathroom. I stepped into the bathroom and flicked the light on. 

I looked terrible. I had dark circles under my eyes. My skin was pale. My hair was an absolute mess. But I didn’t even notice it. My eyes found the marker on my chest, written across my skin in large, uppercase letters. 

I felt nauseous and I swayed. I had to reach out to grab the wall to keep myself from falling. I had trouble processing it. I needed water, I needed to eat, but I needed to sleep, I needed to throw up, and I needed to do it all at once. My headache surged beneath my eyes. It pulsed.  _ Boom boom boom.  _

My fingers came up and gently trailed along the black marker marring my skin. My eyes lowered. It wasn’t the large, black, boldly displayed letters that spelled out the word WHORE across my chest that had me truly crippled with fear in that moment, but the letters printed beneath them, below my belly, across my lower abdomen… large, menacing... a word with more far reaching implications than the simple derogatory insult someone who would drug and rape a woman might throw at them. No, this was far more unsettling, far more frightening. Drawn across my lower bellow, just above the neatly groomed curls nestled between my legs, written in black maker, in capital letters, was the word MINE. 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you. The sex will come. I think a story about a stalker inherently requires at least minimal buildup. Hopefully you'll stick with me till we get there. 
> 
> Ellie's chapters will be long, his chapters will be short, so don't be upset by the length of this one. For those of you who are wondering, I uploaded the story unaltered. So there is no change from the original. 
> 
> Loving the theories! I've been reading a lot of mysteries lately, thought I'd play around with it. This is by no means meant to be a mystery and I can't promise I'll be particularly good at it (I'm prepared for people to figure it out relatively early on), but I thought being in Ellie's shoes of having no idea who this person is, while having a few hints a long the way from his POV could be fun. Hopefully you guys are enjoying it. 
> 
> For those of you that hate it. Very likely my next story will be closer in style to Bought and Paid For, and this story probably won't take me five years to finish this time around. So there is a light at the end of the tunnel!

She didn’t miss a day of work. That was surprising, even considering who she was. That Monday, she got there early and had the step-up basis calc done by the time David walked in smiling with his morning cup of coffee. She walked from her cubicle to the industrial copier with that same air of arrogance he had noted on her first day of work, that suggested she wanted nothing to do with any person in the building. She did great work. She’d learned so quickly, caught on so fast, she’d rubbed a few people the wrong way. 

As she walked to the copier, waiting behind Mark, staring at the back of his head with a look that was simultaneously far off and aggressive, she reached up to hold the top of her button up blouse together at the throat. Her fingers caressed the white buttons and then finally tucked it into the maroon silk. 

She was fashionable but she did not invest in new clothing. All she owned appeared to be what she had purchased for internships in law school. She lived in a tiny little studio. She didn’t own a car. She wore old clothing. Her hair was long, usually kept up in a neat bun and it was not likely she spent much, if anything, on haircuts or styling. No doubt, she had paid off quite a bit of her loans by now. 

Mark finished his copying and turned. He took a small startled step back. She jumped a mile. He laughed loudly and reached out to touch her shoulder. Her face was stone. A single poke to the cheek and she’d shatter. Finally, she managed to force a smile onto her face. She said something in that soft little voice of hers and then Mark moved on. 

She steadied herself against the copier. Her eyes fluttered closed and she took in a sobering breath. Her eyes fluttered open, usually bright and green and vivid, darting around to observe her surroundings anxiously. She was always thinking, always sizing up those around her, taking in her surroundings. Now, they were glassy and bloodshot. She jammed at the buttons on the copier. She was playing with the buttons at the base of her throat, pulling the collar closer together. She looked down at her chest and pulled it together more tightly. She glanced over each shoulder anxiously before she returned to her copying. 

She had a heavy workload this week. She had four moving deals at once. The only junior to have that much on her plate at once. She had only been at the job about ten months. A junior having four moving deals was virtually unheard of. Whenever asked if she could take a deal, she said yes. Everyone had waited for the day where she would fall on her face and realize that all she had to say was no, and the deal would be handed off to someone else. Mark had two moving deals. Peter had three, but he had been working here for three years. The man had no ambition. He’d be a junior until retirement and be happy. 

When in doubt, you went to her.  _ Any availability?  _ You’d ask.  _ Of course,  _ she’d answer dutifully, even when she didn’t. She’d leave the office at midnight and be back in by five, hunched over her computer in her cubicle, racing to get it finished. If she had less work, she’d make the same mistakes. Her mistakes were expected and she never made the same mistake twice. She took direction well. If she could handle the stress, if she could grow a thicker skin, which there was some serious doubt she could, she’d be made senior in less than six months. Her name had been bounced around to fill the recent vacancy, but she was still new. The decision had been made, unanimously, to hold the senior spot open a few months longer, in hopes she would fill the vacancy. 

She walked over with her copies to duck into Brooke’s cubical. Her shoulders were rigid and the back of her neck looked red. She was still fiddling with the front of her blouse, holding it tightly together at the neck. She stayed in there maybe five minutes, reviewing the document in detail. She would often find issues only the FED team was really expected to spot. More than once, Chloe had asked for her transfer to FED. No one on SALT would hear of it. She wasn’t going anywhere. Both seniors and the manager and had made certain of that. She was far too valuable to lose. 

She left Brooke’s cubicle and paused. She chewed on her bottom lip absentmindedly, green eyes darting across the page. She looked up, eyes scanning the cubicles that lined the massive open floor plan of the fourteenth floor. She walked down the cubicles. It was odd she wasn’t using her email. She stopped in with Molly. It was a shorter visit. She left and retreated back down the long rows for the safety of her own cubicle. 

She’d been here briefly for a tax internship during her last year of law school. She’d been placed in compliance during that time. She came in, sat at her desk, did her work, and left. She rarely asked questions and worked hard to avoid eye contact. No one spent much energy trying to get to know her. Interns came and went and no one expected her to be any different. Rumor had it that she didn’t even apply for her current position. At least, not initially. She had impressed the head of compliance so much that Damien reached out to Nick Oakes personally when the new junior spot came open. 

_ You want this girl on your team, _ he had told him at the copier one day, loudly enough for anyone in earshot could hear. She passed the bar with reportedly remarkably high scores, which was good, because she had been offered the job before she had taken the bar. Apparently, her resume had been that impressive. 

She came back out about an hour later. Her voice was soft in the next cubicle. There was a tremor there. She was probably playing with the buttons at the collar of her shirt. It was a nice change seeing her so unsure and so nervous. It was nice, bringing her down a notch or two. 

“It was calculated using the wrong tax year,” she said. “Their fiscal year is 9/30 to 9/29. Do you see?” 

“Well that’s a monumental fuck up,” Peter said. “Fuck.” 

There was the sound of rustling paper. “It hasn’t gone out yet, but I’m going to blow the budget in order to fix it.” 

“It was a bullshit budget to begin with. Even Caleb won’t blame you for that.” 

“Peter, I have to go to Nick to approve the extra hours,” she said. There was a long pause. 

“Just add it to your billables,” he said. 

“Then it looks like  _ I  _ made the mistake and  _ I  _ blew the budget,” she replied. Her voice had an edge to it. It was sharp, taut, but there was a quiver to it. She sounded congested. A cold, perhaps? Crying? Far more likely. 

“Well,” Peter started. He let out a harsh laugh. “Come on, Ellie. Take one for the team. Go to Chris with it. He’ll cover for you in front of Nick. He won’t cover for me.”

“Peter, I, I can’t go to Chris, it’s still Caleb’s deal… either you fix it on your time, bill it and blow the budget, or I’m going to go talk to Nick.” 

She wouldn’t go down for anybody. She was proud. Her ego wouldn’t allow it, but she had given him a chance. 

“You know what, Ellie, do what you think is best. I’m going for a smoke.” 

The sound of him rising and he grabbed his coat. “Pete, I’m sorry, but -”

Peter rushed past the cubicle entrance. She remained behind. She let out a deep, shaky sigh. Her shoulders were probably hunched, her eyes probably closed, soft, slender fingers pressed to her forehead, plump red lips quivering. She sniffled and let out a harsh breath. A few moments passed as she considered. It was clear what was going on inside her head; Who to go to; Caleb or Chris? Caleb or Chris?

She came to stand in the entrance of the cubicle. Her hand rested on the side and gave one of her soft little knocks. 

“Hey, do you have a second?” she asked softly. One hand had the papers in her hands. The other was at her throat, playing with the buttons. Beneath lay large black letters, etched onto her breasts and belly.  _ Whore. Mine.  _

And she was. The word  _ mine  _ had come after and there had been no ability to resist it. She had to know it. There had never been such an urge to write it on any of the others. She had been different. And to know those words were there, just beneath that dark red silk blouse….

The first time I saw her, she had dropped her bag coming out of the elevator. She had not noticed me. Not really. Her belongings had spilled out onto the ground. Her keys clanged on the ground, her bag slipped, papers sliding out onto the floor. She glanced around anxiously as she tried to collect everything. Her eyes had been wide, wet, cheeks erupting with pink, embarrassed blotches. I had helped her pick up her things and before a welcoming greeting could part from my lips she responded to my kindness with a curt and simple, “thanks,” before she went marching down the row of cubes toward her new desk. I knew I needed to have her. I needed to have her face down, ass up, hands bound. I resisted the urge. She was too close to me. We were co-workers. I fought that urge for ten months until it became too much. Every single thought was about her. No porn star looked enough like her. I’d make excuses to talk to her in her cubicle so I could breathe in the scent of her. She was in my dreams. She was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. The last thing I thought of before I went to sleep. It was all consuming. 

It was wanting her and not being able to act on it that had the passion building up to such an uncontrollable level. Once I got what I wanted, I’d get bored. I just needed it once, to get it out of my system. 

She bit her the inside of her bottom lip, mouth warped to the side. I reached up and removed the earbuds from my ears. I almost never actually have music playing, but no one actually knows that. 

“Do you have a second?” she repeated. She glanced around. She rarely had reason to come to my office. I was usually in hers. 

“What’s up?” I answered. She came over to my desk. She stood over me, placing the papers on the desk. She pointed to the numbers. I already knew what she had to say, so I only half listened. Instead, I noted the little tremble of her finger. The way her free hand continued to desperately hold her blouse tight to her throat. She sniffled every couple sentences. 

“The budget’s too low as it is,” she finished. “I can’t keep this under five hours.” 

She turned a hopeful gaze toward me. I felt a stirring in my limbs and looked down at the paper. I felt her beneath my hands, pliable and meek. She had a fruity smell to her. Her soap smelled like cherries. Her hair smelled like strawberries. It was a pleasant smell. I wanted to put my nose back to her hair and breath her in deep. My body radiated tension. 

“Fix it,” I said. “Take the time you need. I’ll take it to Nick.” 

She let out a deep breath of relief. Her green eyes fixed on me and a smile came to her lips. She looked tired. She hadn’t slept. Her skin was pale. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She always wore a little. Tasteful, professional. She looked like a shell of herself now. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and squeeze until she was crushed. _What are you doing here?_ she had breathed. A little push and she'd fallen back onto the bed. Soft, absolute, exquisite, vulnerability. Spread open with no means of fighting. In the brief moments she had remained conscious, she had been so confused but so willing. A marvelous drug. 

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. She began to collect the papers. 

“Scan me the docs,” I said. “I’ll need them for Nick.” 

She nodded and left. She went back to the copier. I put my earbuds back into my ears. I pulled up my email and readied a message to Nick. I CC’d my fellow senior, her, and Peter and began typing. I glanced to my right as she came back from the copier. A violent surge of need exploded in my chest. She looked so tired, sad, frightened, alone. Energy raced through my body with no place to go. I squeezed on the stress ball hard as I watched her approach. She stopped by the opening of my cubicle and said woodenly, “Just scanned it.” 

I gave a smile and a nod. She gave me a strange look. There was a furrow of her brow, a tightening of her jaw. She forced a smile. It looked like she was sucking on a lemon. She nodded abruptly and then walked away. I pulled up the scan and downloaded the document. I had trouble writing the email up. My thoughts were scattered. I knew one thing for certain though. She was not out of my system and once certainly would not be enough. 


	3. 3

_ Day One:  _

I handled the situation by focusing on work. When I was at work, I had purpose, I had a goal, I had something to focus on. At work, I wasn’t crying alone in my shower, sitting beneath the scaling spray of the water, scrubbing my flesh red and raw in a desperate attempt to get the marker from my skin. Even sitting at my desk listening to Caleb’s lectures offered me a sense of relief. 

On the Monday after it happened, Chris popped his head in early that morning and told me to check the information room for the Blue Sun project. He wanted me to review everything and if I found any problems, send it back to the associate that worked that part of the project and have them correct the issue. Once I’d reviewed it all, and it was good to go, I was supposed to send it to him and he’d do a final review before sending it to Nick. 

It was the work of a senior and it wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t still have my current deals. Since that Monday, I was getting into work around six and leaving around nine every night. I was only on one of Caleb’s remaining deals, which was good. The good thing about Caleb’s promotion was that I wouldn’t be working under Caleb directly anymore. It took off a lot of pressure. I had finished my last two reports for him that Monday. Peter wasn’t speaking to me, but I got a nice email from Nick about saving the company a multi-million dollar lawsuit. It had not been my intention. I hadn’t been looking for recognition or glory. I only hoped to avoid the blame. If Peter had just taken the work back and fixed it, it wouldn’t have been a blip on the radar. 

I just wanted things to return to normal. Once the transfer was complete, I’d be able to fall back into a rhythm. I’d get the marker off my skin and I’d stop waking up in the middle night in cold sweats. I’d stop the helpless wondering. It would fade to the back of my brain and it would become just another dream. I rubbed my eyes in between spreadsheets. 

“Ellie.” 

A cry ripped from my throat and I jumped back in my chair. Chris chuckled and leaned against the cubicle door. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No, I just wasn’t expecting you,” I tried to laugh. 

“It’s six on a Friday,” Chris said. “Get home. Whatever it is can wait until Monday.” 

“I just have to finish this research,” I said. In truth, I didn’t want it to be the weekend. I didn’t think I could just sit in my apartment alone for two days. My busy schedule this past week was the only thing that had kept me sane. 

“Ellie,” he said, placing his arm up on the side of the cubicle wall. “People get burned out of jobs like this because they get lost in it. You’re going to be fried by the time you’re thirty, if you even make that long. The only person here besides us is Caleb. Go home. Enjoy the weekend. Whatever it is, it can wait. Come on. I’ll walk you to the T.” 

I sighed but shut down my computer and packed up all my things. Chris grinned and stepped back as I walked from the cubicle. My hand clutched the neck of my peacoat together. 

“Any fun weekend plans?” Chris asked. 

“No. Probably just a lazy weekend. You?”

“Going down the cape with some buddies.”

“In February?” I asked. 

“Yeah, bonfires, beers, bros,” he said and I laughed. 

“Bonfires, beers and bros,” I repeated, looking down at my feet. As I approached the elevators, I could see into Nick’s office. The blinds were open, leaving the large bay windows bare. It would take some getting used to, seeing Caleb behind the desk. He sat there now, hand over his mouth, staring at the computer screen with an intent gaze. He’d spent the past week splitting his time between the new office and his cubicle. Nick had his office empty and was working upstairs by Wednesday. His gaze flickered upward. Chris brought up a hand in a silent wave. Caleb gave a nod, glanced at me momentarily, and then looked back down at the computer screen. Chris jammed the elevator button and I said, “that will be fun though.”

“Yeah, seeing some friends from undergrad. So it’ll be nice.” 

The doors opened and we stepped inside. I let my eyes close for a few moments. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since it happened. 

“I know you’re probably not thrilled about Caleb’s promotion. He’s tough but you’ll be out of his direct line of fire now,” Chris offered. “Everything’ll come through me until we get another senior in here.” 

“Thank God,” I breathed with a little blush. Chris smiled, pretty blue eyes twinkling. He had a very kind smile. We fell into easy conversation about one of the deals I was reviewing. I asked him how to best go about the reviews. I felt more at ease after that. I knew how to talk about work. I didn’t know how to talk about my personal life… or lack thereof. 

We parted at Park Street. He continued on down the stairs to the red line and I moved on toward the green. The platform was packed. I crushed through toward the front of the platform. It was the one part of my life where I could act on pure aggression. The train came whizzing by and I slithered between bodies until I was to the left of the door. I felt the bodies crush in behind me, but I remained stone still, pushing backward to prevent being knocked out of the way. The moment the last person stepped off the bottom step, bodies fell in on themselves. One well placed shoulder and I was up on the stairs. The train was delayed. Bodies were trying to force their way on and the doors couldn't close. I looped my arm around the silver bar and watched with detached amusement. 

I dug into my purse and retrieved my headphones. I pressed the buds into my ears and put the music on my phone. I tried to think of something other than work, but the more I pushed my thoughts away from work, my brain ventured off into trying to figure out what had happened. Why? How? Who?

I didn’t go to the police. By the time I realized I should have, I had been sitting under the hot spray of the water so long, the water had begun to cool. Whatever evidence there had been was gone. I didn’t think I could go through the humiliation of an investigation with no likelihood of success. It was something I would get over. I was lucky I didn’t remember it. That’s what I kept telling myself. 

I got off one stop early and did some grocery shopping. I picked up two bottles of wine along the way. I was going to need it. The walk back to my apartment was about twenty minutes but I found it refreshing. The air was frigid and brisk. I walked with fast, meaningful steps. It helped clear my head some. 

My apartment building didn’t have an elevator. I climbed the steps with burning lungs. When I arrived at my door, my back was slick with sweat, my arms were burning, and I was a bit out of breath. I fumbled with my keys. My stiff fingers struggled to keep hold of the metal. They fell to the floor with a loud clang. 

“Fucking christ,” I snapped and hunched over to pick up the keys. A head of garlic fell from the bag, followed by a lime, the salt and pepper followed. I dropped the back and straightened. I stamped my foot and pressed my eyes shut. My heart rate came back down and I shoved the food back into the bag. I retrieved the keys, opened the door and collected my things. Once I was inside, I kicked the door shut behind me. 

I walked into the little kitchen and laid out my things on the counter. The first thing I did was pour myself a healthy glass of chardonnay. I took a few big gulps before moving on to my closet. I tossed it open and wiped the little dribble off my chin with the back of my arm. I retrieved a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from my little clothing bin. I switched into my shorts, hopping from side to side as I forced a leg into each hole. Once done, I threw my hair up into a bun and grabbed the remote from the foot of my bed. I threw on NESN and tossed the remote dismissively onto my beanbag chair in the corner. 

Cooking was always something that calmed me. It was fun and calming. It was something easy to control and since I had moved away from home four years ago at the start of law school, one of my favorite things to do was to throw on a sports game, turn the music up high, crack a bottle of wine, and cook a nice dinner. 

I retrieved my phone from my bag, put on my favorite playlist, and hooked it up to my speakers. I couldn’t hear the game over the speakers, so I turned it up. It was the pregame show and I liked to hear the analysis beforehand. I’d always loved sports but not many people knew that about me. I took another deep swig of wine and then refilled the glass. 

I wasn’t a virgin before it happened. I’d had a rather serious boyfriend during undergrad and I’d had a hookup in law school. I didn’t know it was just a hookup until I stopped by his locker the next day to see what he was doing later that night. Long story short, it wasn’t me. So, I had no real reason to be so upset. It was just sex. I wasn’t robbed of my innocence. I had already scheduled an appointment with my doctor for a test in three months. Apparently, that was how long you needed to wait before getting tested to know what you might have contracted, but I was fairly certain whoever it was, they had used a condom. I would be fine. I was being over dramatic. Many women had sex ten times as much as I had at this point their life. It was fine. 

I finished chopping the garlic and slid it off to the side. I grabbed the onion and glanced over my shoulder at the TV. The game would be starting soon. I’d probably have dinner ready in time for the second period. I’d plop down on my beanbag, drink the rest of my bottle of wine, most of the other, and then go to sleep. 

I tossed the green peppers, onions, and garlic into the pan. I preheated the oven and patted the chicken dry. My neighbor’s door opened and shut. I could hear it faintly over the music and the TV. Hopefully they wouldn’t be partying too hard tonight. I wanted to fall into my drunken stupor relatively early this evening. I slid the chicken into the oven and set the time. I stirred the veggies and moved it over to the off burner. I flipped the burner off and reached for my glass. 

Before my hand could close around the stem of the glass, a large, hot hand clamped over my mouth. My body was ripped backward with ease and a powerful arm crossed over the front of my body, holding my arms tightly to my own body. I was held firmly against a large, towering body, and a cry ripped past my throat. 

“Scream and I cut your throat,” a gravelly voice grated lowly against my ear. I felt the scratch of the mask against my skin, felt the heat of breath against my cheek. I fell silent, body still as stone. My heart pounded violently against my ribcage. My brain remained empty as he shuffled us backward toward my bed. I stumbled along, my bare feet colliding with his shoes as he hauled me backward. If not for the hold he had on me, I could have fallen hard to the floor. 

He flung me down face first and was on me so fast, I wouldn’t have been able to fight back if I had wanted to. His knee pressed hard into my lower back and my shoulder strained as he pulled back my arms hard at the wrist. Plastic bit into the skin of my wrists and he pulled the ties tightly around my skin. The moment his hands left my wrists and I made the attempt to full free, I was struck with the intense danger of my situation. I tried to break free, but I could not. He grabbed my ankles and I let him tie them without an ounce of resistance. I continued to pull at my wrists, but my body lay limp, unwilling or unable to fight. He leaned down on my upper thighs and bent my legs at the knee. He got ties around my ankles and fastened them tightly. 

“P-Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this. Please.” 

“Shut up,” he bit out, low and gravelly again. He wrapped a thick piece of fabric around my head and my eyes fluttered closed. 

“Please don’t,” I whimpered pathetically. I could hear his footsteps as he crossed my wooden floors. THey were heavy. The curtains were whipped across the blinds. I keep my blinds down anyway. I always thought the idea of letting the people in the building across the street look directly into my apartment was creepy. Now I wished I had left those blinds open. They might have seen what happened. Police might have been on the way. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

I heard heavy footsteps cross the floor again. A piece of cloth was jammed into my mouth. I shook my head at the invasion. I began to fight then. I’d read about people suffocating like this. The cloth would get jammed too deeply into the person’s throat and they’d choke to death. He held it there but stopped trying to force it into my lips. I stopped fighting. Every muscle in my body went limp. I laid weakly on the quilt. 

The fabric was slowly removed from between my lips. I remained quiet. My chest heaved and I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. I tried to calm my breathing as best I could, but I struggled. Every muscle in my body flinched when a hand closely closed over my calf. My cheek was gently caressed with the back of his fingers. The hand wrapped around my calf slowly moved upward and stopped just below my knee. 

The hand was removed and I was heaved upward. I plopped down with my head against the pillow. There were a long few moments of silence before I felt his body drift away. There was a moment of stillness and for a few moments, I actually thought he might have left. Then the music turned off. The Bruins announcer’s voice shouted out loudly into the room, noting the remarkable athletic ability necessary for the other team’s goalie to make such an amazing save. Then the TV clicked off, leaving us in silence.

The silence was deafening. It was absolute silence. It buzzed in my ears and I strained to hear. I held my breath a moment, trying to locate him. Then it became too much and I let out a deep sigh and sucked in air greedily. His footsteps slowly crossed the room. He was in the kitchen area. 

“My name is Ellie,” I offered softly. “I’m twenty six. I’m from Berlin, New Hampshire -”

The footsteps crossed the floor in fast, heavy, hard thuds. My heart seized and his hand grabbed my jaw hard. The cloth was pressed to my lips and he worked hard to forth it past my teeth. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” I pleaded, turning my head to the side so I could free my face from his grip. “I’ll stop. I promise. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be quiet. I promise.” 

There was some hesitation. I remained as quiet as I could. He remained close. Hovering. Looming. Slowly, he backed away. He crossed the floor softly, back into the kitchen. I waited, listening intently, too frightened to move an inch. It was impossible to know how much time passed, but soon, his feet were crossing the floor.

I felt the weight of him press down on the side of the mattress and he lifted a leg over my waist. I could feel him hovering on top of me. The mattress pressed down on either side of my head. 

His face pressed to my neck, the mask itchy and uncomfortable. I could feel his lips. He breathed in deeply and let out a soft, contented sigh. His face moved upward to settle against my temple. His face pressed to mine hard and I grimaced forcefully against the cloth around my eyes. It was the same man. I knew it. It wasn’t a conscious thought, it was simply an understanding that was there, floating around in the back of my brain. 

I sucked in a breath, parted my mouth to speak, but a finger gently pressed to my lips. I fell silent. I got another soft caress to my cheek. A gentle touch of approval. His fingers trailed downward, painfully soft against my jaw and throat, until he reached the white t-shirt. His fingers hooked at the collar and tugged downward. His fingers traced the tops of the fading marker.

Slowly, with agonizing tenderness, he leaned his head downward to place his lips to the burning skin beneath those black letters. Slowly, he moved downward, forcing my shirt up over my bra. His mouth was on my stomach. His lips were hot and wet. I felt his tongue trail along my belly button. He stopped at the top of my shorts. 

He sat up, shifting on top of me. He was seated on my hips, hands trailing along my body slowly. He let out a kind of breathy laugh, like an excited child opening up the present he most wanted on Christmas morning. Large, powerful hands closed around my bra covered breasts and he squeezed gently. He prodded, feeling the weight of them. He massaged his thumbs against my nipples through the fabric.

It took everything in me not to beg him to stop, but the threat of the gag kept me silent. No matter how badly I hated my life at that moment, I didn’t want to die, and I was terrified of suffocation. He must have noticed my increased trembling, because he leaned down and placed a kiss to my cheek. He placed another to my temple and then whispered, low in his throat, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I nodded. The blindfold was getting damp from the tears that were squeezing past my closed eyelids. His lips closed around my earlobe and sucked. His groin pressed against me. His fingers pressed hard into the flesh of my bottom, pressing me firmly against his jeans clad erection. He wore jeans and I could feel his erection straining against it as he pressed himself against my stomach. 

His face went to my neck. One hand gripped my face, tilting my head back to give him better access to my throat. He kissed softly. Gentle caresses from his lips from around the itchy mask. He breathed in deeply. I felt a hot, wet trail of his tongue along the side of my neck. Then another kiss and a deep inhale. His teeth grazed my shoulder and I jumped. He shushed softly against my throat, hand gently caressing my forehead. I fell silent again, sagging against the bed. I continued to shudder slightly, but I received no sign this angered him.

I did cry out when he pulled back and with frightening abruptness, felt a tugging and then tearing of my shirt. I felt the tug and the pull and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was using a knife to accomplish this task.

“Shh, Shh, Shh,” he continued to soothe. I took in an increasingly shuddering breath of air as he tossed the two sides of my shirt aside. I still had my bra on, partially concealing the word WHORE fading across my chest.

In what I could only take in as a sinister, blood curdling act, his fingers slowly traced the word mine written across my stomach. He took his time. His fingers left a tingling, scorching wake in their path.

“Ple-”

I stopped myself, biting down hard on my lower lip. His fingers paused. One finger pressed to my lower stomach. I kept my lips pressed together. I sniffled. Bit my lips again. Slowly his fingers resumed their trail. Once done, he moved to my shorts, and gently plucked at the edges. He did not remove them. Instead, his fingers went to my bra straps. He slid his fingers beneath them, sliding them back and forth, up and down. Slowly, painfully slowly, he pulled the straps down. He leaned down and placed his lips to my shoulders.

He nipped and licked at my chest. Slowly, he flipped a bra cup downward. I arched my back, straining my arms beneath me. A feeling, hot and wet, engulfed my hardening nipple. His tongue flicked at it and his hand tightened around my other breast. His teeth closed around it and I bucked in fear. His mask scraped against the swell of my breast and I could feel the curve of his smile against my skin.

He flicked down the other cup of my bra. His mouth went to that breast next. He gave it the same attention. Sucking and licking and biting. His hips ground against me, forcing his bulging erection more firmly against me.

Finally he sat back and with another tug of pressure and a quick flick, my bra was cut in half between the cups. He tossed it to either side and palmed a breast within each hand. My nipples strained hard against his palms and his squeezes grew more forceful.

His hand gripped me by the jaw hard and his lips pressed to mine. I remained rigid and unmoving beneath him. He kissed again, massassing my mouth with his. I remained rigid. His hand went into my hair and he tugged my head to the side. My scalp burned slightly. 

His mouth hovered over mine. His breath was crisp and minty. He breathed, voice low and curt, “Kiss me back.”

His mouth was back on mine. I parted my lips timidly. He tasted like wintergreen. His kisses were gentle at first. They grew more passionate, but what was most unsettling about it was that they felt no different than a kiss you might receive from a boyfriend or an attractive stranger at the bar. His hand went behind my head and he held me to him closely, mashing our mouths together as he opened his mouth more widely. Finally he pulled back and lifted me up. He made the necessary cuts and tossed my shirt and bra to the side in tatters. He made a noise, as if he was about to speak, but stopped himself.

His fingers grabbed the waistband of my shorts and pulled downward. I wore plain cotton panties. He pulled those down without ceremony. He unbound my feet and finished yanking the clothing to the side. He tossed a leg aside. On impulse I brought it back over, squeezing my thighs together as tightly as I could. 

“N-no. Please. I’m begging you.”

I was silenced with a firm slap across the face. It wasn’t particularly hard, but it stung and was shocking enough to still me. His hand flattened over my mouth and he leaned downward, lips to my ear. His voice was low and grating. Like he was growling. It didn’t sound natural. "Be quiet." 

He pulled back and tossed my leg to the side. I was trembling, but I remained silent. I sniffled violently and he leaned down over me. He pressed his lips to mine and cooed softly, hushing my cries.

He paused a moment and then with some force, rolled me into my side. He released the bonds on my wrists and quickly yanked my hands up over my head. Without any resistance, I let him turn me back over and bind my hands to my headboard.

My hips were elevated and he readjusted me so my bottom was pressed to his thighs. There was a hot gust of breath air and then cold. A warm finger pressed to my clit, his thumb, and my hips bucks. A breathy laugh escaped from his nostrils and pressed a closed mouth kiss to the sensitive bud. I remained still, too afraid to try to inch away.

Slowly, I felt his tongue press to the sensitive skin, firm and hard. I could not help the reaction to try and squirm my hips away. He kept my in place, throwing my legs over each shoulder.

I was struck with an intense sense of embarrassment as I listened to him breath in deeply through his nose and then push his tongue into me. I’d never let a man do this to me before and I wouldn’t allow it now if I had the choice. Tears continued to leak from my eyes and I sniffled violently. His mouth did not stop moving. His lips kissed and sucked, his tongue poked and prodded, until with a horrifying realization I felt the building up of pressure in between my legs.

He pulled back and inserted a finger inside of me. Then two. He pumped them back and force, his thrums brushing my clit, until finally, his lips took the place of his thumb. It was a concentrated effort and I was unable to fight the build up of pressure, until I felt a quiver rush through me I pressed my thighs together. I felt the itch of the mask against my inner thigh. Any hope he didn’t notice was immediately dashed.

He pulled back, removing his fingers from me and let my bottom fall to his lap once more. A little sob escaped me when, through the quiet of the apartment, he  _ laughed _ . He shushed me as I began to cry with a bit more force. He lowered his body to mine and pressed a gentle kiss to my face. He stroked my hair and placed one kiss on top of either eyelid. He pushed himself back up. There was the sound of a belt fumbling and then my hips were lifted.

Slowly, he rubbed himself against me and I tried to squirm away. He did not hit me this time, but he held me firm. He continued to rub. Slowly, he pushed downward until he was pressed against my slick entrance. Hot, hard flesh slowly rubbed, up and down, up and down, against my glistening flesh. He groaned softly as he continued to push. Then, on one motion downward, he pressed firmly to my opening, and thrust inward. 

I moaned softly as I spread apart. He moved slowly but without hesitation or concern. As I struggled with the emotions coursing through me, I tried to remind myself that it didn’t matter. He’d already had sex with me once, and I wasn’t a virgin when it happened. It didn’t matter. It was just sex. Women had sex all the time. I was just a prude. It was fine. The same as bringing someone home from the bar. I was fine. It didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything. I’d be fine. 

He continued to press inward. I groaned deeply as I struggled to adjust to the discomfort. He pushed as far as his body would allow. He collapsed on top of me, pressing his face back into my neck. He didn’t move right away. He kissed my neck gently, like he was comforting a lover. 

When he did begin to move again there was some discomfort but it was faded. He was a well endowed man, but he had made certain not to hurt me. His movements were measured though intense and as he continued to move over me, his thrusts grew harder and harder, and soon he was groaning loudly in my ear as he neared climax. I was struck with a violent rush of familiarity. He’d been here before though. He’d written those words on me. 

He remained inside of me a while after he had finished. He placed scorching hot kisses along my neck and face. He breathed in deeply, pressing one hand to one of my breasts and squeezing. He placed an opened mouth kiss to the side of my mouth before slowly turning my face toward his. I accepted the kiss passively but I made sure not to be too rigid. 

Finally, after an eternity, rolled off of me. The weight of his body weighted the mattress down beside me. He was breathing, loud and content. I laid there, too scared to move, praying he would get up and leave me alone. 

He rolled off the bed by rolling on top of me. I felt the indent on the mattress, and then the warmth of his body as he rolled over me. On his way, he grabbed my face and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth. My ears strained as I waited for him to leave. I wanted to ask him to untie me first. It would be days before anyone thought to send a welfare check. I could go days without food or water before anyone would think to come looking for me. It was enough to bring me to tears.

“P-please,” I chanced. “Don’t leave me tied up- no one will come looking for me.”

I was struck with the idiocy saying that. I hated myself. I wanted to collapse in on myself like a dying star. I bit my lip hard.

“Can I -” I swallowed thickly. His heavy footsteps crossed the floor. “Can I talk now?”

The TV came on. The Bruins were still on. Next I heard the fridge open. I waited. They were going into overtime. The bed sunk down by my feet. There was the crack and hiss of a soda can. He was still catching his breath, though the sound was softer now. The tv turned up.

“C-can I - ”

I fell silent when he got off the bed. I thought I was about to be hit and I cried, “I have to use the bathroom!”

There was a moment of pause. Footsteps crossed the room and I realized he had been nowhere near me.

He was wearing gloves now. Cold, latex. His hands unfastened me from the bed and he directed me with firm movements off the bed. I walked toward the bathroom. I stumbled along the floor, still naked. I realized he had finished inside of me as I felt, thick, warm, wetness begin to drip onto my thigh. There was the sound of porcelain slapping porcelain and then I was forced to sit down on the toilet.

My cheeks burned with shame. I could feel him there, standing over me. Looming. Eventually my bladder let loose. My eyes squeezed shut and I let out a humiliated sob. I heard the sound of smacking latex and warm fingers were pressed to my face. The touch was tender and comforting. It would have been soothing and reassuring, if they were not from the hands that had just raped me. I groped for the toilet paper with my bound hands once finished, but he stopped me. Further humiliation seized me as he stood me up, reached between my legs, and wiped me clean. He tossed it into the toilet and flushed it. The water turned on, soft scrubbing, and then his hands touched me bringing me back toward the bed. He sat me down but did not try and fasten me back to the bed frame.

He went to the fridge again. When he came back, he pressed a hand to the back of my head and a bottle of water to my lips. I drank it down greedily. Once the bottle was empty, he laid me back down on the bed. My hands were brought up over my head.

“Please don’t leave me like this. I won’t call the police, I promise. Please don’t leave me like this -”

A finger to my lips. Gentle but firm. He walked away and I heard the sound rummaging. He came back and his fingers slipped between my lips. I felt the pill, small and hard on my tongue. Then, the tin of one of my seltzer cans was placed to my lips. I swallowed without protest. 

He got back onto the bed and laid down beside me. A hand pressed flat against my thigh. He slid it inward slowly. His fingers curled around my inner thigh and he prodded. The puck was about to drop. His fingers continued to grope. Slow, calm, squeezes of my thigh. I fell asleep just a few moments later, silently wondering if the chicken was burning in the oven. 


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the reviews. It's really very much appreciated. I know this one is different than Bought and Paid for, but I really am hoping you guys are enjoying it. Please let me know what you think! It's inspiring.

The chicken lay over cooked and partially eaten on the counter, next to the forgotten glass of Chardonnay. The vegetates had browned and shriveled. The TV buzzed softly and the only other sound in the tiny apartment rose up over the TV in deep, measured breaths. Her chest rose and fall with every intake of oxygen. Her hair spread up like a halo on the pillow behind her head. Her angelic face was partially hidden by the blindfold around her head.

She had been exquisite. Far better awake than she had been asleep. The soft little sounds that escaped her lips, the trembling of her thighs, the tightening of her nipples.

Her lips twitched where she lay. They parted and a little moan escaped. The benzo would keep her asleep for at least seven hours. I considered untying her, removing her blindfold, and holding her to me like we were lovers. I wanted to know how it might feel. My better judgment decided against that.

The first time, she had remained awake for only moments. She was asleep by the time I had her stripped down to nothing. I had come prepared with chloroform and GBH, but dragging her over to the bed had given me a feel of her frightened, trembling body against mine, and my well thought out plan had gone out the window. I needed her awake. I needed to feel her tremble, hear her moans and whimpers.

She had hair between her legs, but she was groomed. A dark little nestle of well placed curls. There was a very slight swell to her belly, but it only helped to extenuate her curves. Her breasts were large enough to fill a hand. Her nipples were small and pink. Round and hard beneath a tongue.

I wanted her again. Already my body was stirring at the sight of her. I got off of the bed. I flicked the TV off. I finished the glass of wine on the counter and then rinsed it out in the sink. I poked at the vegetables. It would have been a very good meal if I hadn’t interrupted.

Once the kitchen was clean I walked into the bathroom. It was tiny. It was a walk in shower with enough room to sit if someone wanted to. The sink was directly beside the toilet, and there was only two body widths between them and the wall. She was living well below her means.

I opened the medicine cabinet. Before starting, I’d done a cursory search for birth control and checked to make sure it was current. I wanted to fuck her without a condom this time. There was time to clean her up after. Now I did a deeper dive.

Inside was makeup. One bottle of concealer turned to the side, the cap discarded and off in the corner, a tiny pile of cream colored goo collecting beneath the bottle. Some eyeliner, eyeshadow and blush, though she rarely wore it.

The pill bottles were more interesting. Little orange bottles, stacked neatly side by side, labels facing outward. Doxepine for sleep. Isocarboxide, for social disorders. Trazidone for depression. Xanax for panic attacks. Tucked inside was a handwritten note. It was her handwriting. It gave detailed instructions on when and how to take each pill. She was more fucked up than I thought. It was not frightening. It only reinvigorated the flame.

She had a pink toothbrush and used wintergreen flavored toothpaste. I smiled, reached into my pocket, and plopped a piece of gum between my lips.

He phone was on the night stand. She had received one text. A girl named Peg. The text messages were not that in depth. A few conversations here and there. Nothing serious. Peg asked what she was doing this weekend. Peg was headed up north for skiing.

Nothing. I typed. Just staying in and watching movies. Her camera roll was full of images of a baby and two dogs and a cat. Intermittently there was a picture of of her. A selfie with a sad looking, half hearted smile. One or two had the same three girls popping up in them. There wasn’t a sign of a man on her phone. Not a sign of one in her apartment.

She had normal games. Candy crush. Sudoku. Some puzzle games.

Her fridge was well stocked. Juice, milk, soda, bread. A bottle of Chardonnay and enough food to get her through the weekend. Her cupboards had oatmeal, cereal, a full bag of chips, popcorn, peanut butter and jelly. A small smile came to my face. Many time I had come around to stand in the doorway of her cubicle, her report in my hand, to find her seated at her desk, staring off into space with her PBJ hovering in front of her lips as she chewed a tiny bite.

There was not much else to see in the tiny apartment. I searched for a journal but found none. I would have liked to take a little journey into her brain, but it did not appear she kept one.

I returned to her phone. Her Facebook was sparse. Ellie O. was her profile name. It explained why it was so difficult to find her. She only had about hundred or so friends, but they were active on her wall. Funny jokes and memes. Nothing to suggest she’d had physical contact with anyone in some time. She was not afraid to post about politics and she found herself on the correct side of the political aisle. She also liked Star Wars and the Office. So very original from every other white girl in New England.

She did have an interest in horror movies and mysteries, psychological thrillers and historical romances.

Her friends list included no one from work. It was a safe little haven for her, away from the stresses of her high paid job.

She stirred and made a soft little gasping noise. My head jerked to the side and I reached for my mask. Her blindfold was still on. Her lips parted, she let out a soft sigh, and her body relaxed again. I lowered my face so it was close to hers. Her breaths were soft little puffs of cool air against my face.

“No one will come looking for me,” I murmured and trailed a finger along her lips. The first time, her kisses were limp and unresponsive. This time, the feel of her tongue, timidly and submissively pressed beneath mine, wiggling slightly, the soft caress of her mouth, had brought about an explosive pleasure.

Her body was soft and welcoming and so very responsive. Her back was to me when I came in. I’d had time to pull on the mask, pull the zip ties from my pocket, and walk right up behind her. It was lucky, but clearly, the universe was on my side.

No one will come looking for me. She wasn’t expected anywhere this weekend. She wasn’t going to get any phone calls that needed answering. It would not be until Monday when anyone would wonder where she was, and even then, no one at work would call in a welfare check for a day or so. Realistically, I had two more days to enjoy her.

Her nipples were still hard. The air was still cool. I closed a hand over her breast and felt it beneath my palm. Two more days, to fuck her at my leisure, to work through my need for her, and get her out of my system. I had been telling a friend earlier that I needed something to release the tension I’d been experiencing recently. To work through the stress. This was a perfect way to do it. I double checked the door to make sure it was locked. She had three locks on it. A good thing she hadn’t used a single one. It wouldn't have mattered much. I had her spare keys in my bag. It didn't look like she'd noticed they were missing. The locks stayed the same. 

_What are you doing here?_ she'd asked in confusion when she'd opened the door. 

_I wanted to make sure you got home alright,_ I answered, stepping inside. She'd backed up to let me in, brow knitting. Her eyes were red and glassy. It was a miracle she had made it home at all. It was the biggest risk I'd taken to date, but it had been worth it. So very worth it. 

I got up onto the bed and settled in next to her. I draped an arm over her belly and pulled her closer. I buried my nose in her hair and breathed in deeply. She smelled so good. It drove me crazy when I’d stand by her desk, pointing out mistakes she was too smart to have made. I tightened my hold on her. I pressed my groin against her thigh. I’d imagined this for so long. Having her naked body against mine, tied, vulnerable, and there for my use, felt better than I could have ever imagined it would. I had a great weekend ahead of me, but now, it was time to get some sleep.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would she recognize his voice? I don't know.
> 
> Am I going to say for the sake of the fantasy it is perfectly reasonable under the circumstances that she wouldn't? Yes. And I will fight anyone who says otherwise.

_Day Two:_

I woke up feeling refreshed. There was no grogginess, no confusion, no ache of the head, no nausea. I started abruptly, ready and alert. I did not awaken disoriented, but I quickly became so. I started to open my eyes, but felt the weight of the fabric. I pulled at my wrists to find them still bound, up over my head. My first instinct was panic. It would be days before anyone noticed something was wrong. I’d be left there for days without food or water. I realized that was a bit of a dramatic belief. The walls were thin. I could scream and alert my neighbors to the fact that I needed help. That thought was not an appealing one. I was still naked. The thought of being found like this was horrifying. 

I moved to sit up. I was going to get up on my knees and try to rip myself off of the bed frame. I’d rip the bed apart if I had to. I would not have my neighbors or the police come barging into my apartment with me tied to the bed naked. I’d break free and get the blindfold from my eyes and get dressed. Then I could decide if I wanted to call the police. I  _ could  _ rub my face against my bed until the blindfold came free. It was tight, but not so tight I couldn’t get it off of I tried hard enough. That way, I could watch as I ripped the flesh from my skin trying to rip free from the zipties. I tried to move, but then I felt the weight of the arm across my belly. I felt his breath against my cheek.

He was still here. 

My limbs tensed and I took in a sharp breath. I tried to stay as still as possible. I strained to hear, as if that might make my situation clearer. I heard nothing. No TV, no music. My fan wasn’t even on. I always slept with my fan. The blindfold was thick. My skin burned hot. I sucked in a deep breath on impulse, and struggled to keep myself quiet. I gave a few more tentative tugs at my wrists. 

His nose pressed to my cheek and he took in a deep breath. He’d removed the mask to sleep. I couldn’t feel the scratch of the fabric against my skin. I rubbed the back of my head against my pillow but then stopped. If I got the blindfold off, if I got a sight of him, I was dead. It was like signing my own death warrant. I didn’t need to be a hero. I just needed to get through this weekend alive. I remained still. His breathing turned steady again. Low and even. He was asleep. It was likely Saturday. Friday night? Maybe, but I felt too well rested. I couldn’t have slept into Sunday. It had to be Saturday. But what time?

I remained still. I struggled to keep my breathing calm and my brain raced for a wise next step. I could lay there, remain silent, let him do what he pleased and hoped he’d leave me alive when he was done. I could try and get the blindfold off, get a good look at him, and then pretend to be asleep until he woke up. Then I could try and convince him it came off in my sleep. I never saw his face and there was no need to hurt me. I could try and rip free from my bonds and bludgeon him and get away.

If I had been given all the time in the world, I can’t say what I would have done. I might have laid there trying to make up my mind until I died of thirst.

He shifted, groaned softly in a contented manner, and then stilled. The room was deathly quiet. The only sound was the slow, even breaths of the man laying in bed beside me. I could see nothing. I was surrounded by darkness. I was hyper aware of the sounds around me. My ears were buzzing. My heart thundered against my rib cage. It is impossible to say how long I lay there. I might have fallen back asleep at some point, because when he moved again, I jerked violently, pulling painfully on the zip ties around my wrists.

A soft half sigh, half groan escaped his lips. He breathed in deeply against my temple. After a moment more, his arm left my waist and the mattresses sagged beside me. I listened intently to his footsteps as he crossed the floor. The sound of a door creaking, porcelain hitting porcelain, and then running water. The toilet flushed, the sink ran, and then the door shut again.

“What time is it?” I asked. My voice was remarkably steady. It did not reflect the terror I felt coursing through me. I tried my binds weakly. I didn’t want him to know I was testing the strength. Even with the slightest of force, the zip ties cut into my flesh. The skin ached and burned. I listened intently for his movements. 

He was in the kitchen. The coffee bean grinder went on. The sink ran. My fridge opened and shut. I licked my lips nervously. My mouth was so dry. I wanted to ask for another bottle of water but I was too afraid speaking again might anger him.

I smelled garlic and onions. A pan sizzled. Then the smell of eggs and potatoes. My stomach growled angrily and I felt the pangs of hunger hit me hard. I hadn’t eaten last night. He’d interrupted me before I could finish dinner. 

The coffee maker began to drip. Pressure built up sharply in my bladder and I pressed my thighs together. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him if I could use the bathroom. I couldn’t handle the shame of being brought to the bathroom and wiped like a child again. I bit on the inside of my cheek as I waited, rubbing my thighs together to try and relieve the growing discomfort. Soon, it grew too much to let the shame stop me, but as I opened my mouth to speak, I found myself lacking the courage. No matter how many times I started, I could not get the request out. 

His footsteps crossed the floor and approached me rapidly. I tensed, unsure of what was about to occur, but he simply grabbed my wrists and untied whatever kept them connected to the headboard behind me. It felt like something was cut. There was sudden tension, and then a snap. My arms then fell free. A single zip tie remained around each wrist. He brought my hands down and placed them still together in my lap. He squeezed my wrists hard. He waited then squeezed again. He did not need to speak, but the message was clear.

A coffee cup was soon placed into my hands. The distorted rumble said, “It’s hot.”

“Thank you,” I murmured stupidly and brought the coffee up to my lips. Either it was as simple as a good guess or this person knew how I took my coffee.

My bladder protested as I took the second sip. The coffee scalded my tongue but I took another deep gulp. The apartment smelled wonderful. Garlic, onion, potatoes, eggs, fresh coffee and cream. I sat on the bed with my shoulders hunched and head down, gripping the coffee cup tightly in my hands. Not a lot of thought was going through my brain in those few minutes. I tried to replay leaving the bar on the day of Caleb’s promotion. I had gotten into the uber by myself. Could it be the uber driver? No I did not think so. He’d had a very thick and distinctive accent and appeared a bit soft and short. This man had no hint of an accent, Boston or otherwise, and he was tall and well built. I trailed my finger along the front of the mug. I felt the grooves and dips. It was my law school mug. I could feel the name engraved on the sides. 

I’d tripped on the curb. The driver had asked me if I was ok. He’d had a deep crease in his brow. I’d tripped again but got to the stairs. I never used the elevator. It smelled like piss. 

I had all but finished the cup of coffee when his footsteps came across the floor and the mattress pressed down next to me. I felt the fork hovering in front of my lips and I leaned forward anxiously to take a bite. I did my best not to groan in relief. It tasted delicious. I chewed and swallowed rapidly and then opened my mouth like a baby bird. I got another forkful. I pressed my thighs together tightly. I arched my back slightly and pressed my bottom into my mattress. The fork that was returning to my lips retreated.I took a deep breath and finally admitted, “I have to use the bathroom.”

A pause and then the weight lifted off the bed beside me. Those large warm hands closed around my upper arm and he pulled me to my feet. I shuffled along the floor beside him. My apartment was small. I knew where I was going and saw the floor plan laid out in front of me as if my eyes were open. We passed the kitchen to our right, the futon and beanbag to our left, and then took the right into the cramped little bathroom. He sat me down on the toilet.

“Can I please have some privacy?” I asked. There was no ulterior motive. It was simply too humiliating. There was no response. I heard no footsteps. The door did not close. Finally I let my bladder go. I tried to be thankful I only had to urinate.

I felt him reach for me when finished and said, “I can do it. Please. Please.”

My hands were not bound together. The zip ties each hugged a single wrist. Hesitation and then nothing. I groped for the toilet paper, found it, and took care of myself. I had no trouble finding the sink and washed my hands thoroughly. Once I turned off the water, his hand closed around my upper arm.His hand was large. He practically engulfed my bicep. 

“Can I shower later?” I asked him. Speaking made me feel calmer. Like this was normal. Like I was safe. He did not answer me and sat me down on the bed. He’d made no efforts to silence me though and I felt encouraged by that. I took a deep, calming breath. I hardly even remembered I was completely naked. The more familiar a rapist was with you, the less likely hey were to kill you. Many rapists were murderers. It took a lot to take a life. I kept telling myself as I finished my breakfast. 

I got a big mouthful of potatoes, smothered in ketchup, and chewed peacefully. Now that my bladder was empty and those initial hunger pangs had subsided, I felt more at ease. I knew I was going to be raped again. He would have left if he was done, but I was confident, at least in that moment, that he wouldn’t hurt me if I did what I was told. My goal now was getting out of it alive.

I ate until I was full and then shook my head silently at the next forkful. The bed shifted and I heard him take the few steps into the kitchen. The sink ran, dishes clinked, and I realized he was cleaning. I felt an absurd urge to laugh.

Another full cup of coffee was placed into my hands and I sipped at it peacefully until he was finished cleaning. He brought me back into the bathroom and I was hopeful I would get a shower, but he only positioned me in front of the mirror, placed my toothbrush in my hand, and put it between my lips.

I brushed my teeth and stood beside me. After I spit and rinsed, I could hear him beside me, brushing his own teeth. He spit and rinsed, and then his hand guided me out with a touch to my lower back. I reached out on impulse, frightened he might lead me directly into the wall, but then his arm snaked around my waist and he walked me out in a protective manner.

Warm hands pressed on my shoulders and I was forced down onto the futon. I sucked in a breath as he sat down beside me. I waited. Fingertips gently trailed over my cheekbone. Soft, hot tingles were left in their wake. The pads of his fingers gently brushed over my lips. My calm evaporated. I thought I had been ready for it again but I wasn’t. My jaw trembled and I breathed out, “please, you already got what you want.”

His palm cupped my cheek. His hand was warm. The pad of his thumb slowly stroked my bottom lip. My wrist was seized. Slowly, my hand was placed on the hardening flesh concealed within his jeans. He pushed my hand against him hard. He ground my palm against the hot bulge. His message was clear. “No I haven’t.”

His mouth pressed to mine and I flinched backward. My head was yanked back firmly with a hard grip to my hair and a little cry escaped past my lips.

“Kiss. Me. Back.” His was a low, grating whisper. He gave a hard yank again. A warning. His lips covered mine. Soft and warm. Fingers released their grip on my wrist and went to grope my breast. The kiss deepened. His hand held my face to his firmly. There was no room to escape even if I summoned the courage to try and wiggle free. His fingers slipped between my legs and prodded. He made a noise as if to speak, but decided against it. His lips continued their caress of mine.

His hands pressed at my inner thigh, throwing my legs apart with ease. My knees came back together on impulse. His hand pressed into me with more force and a cry of pain course through me as his fingers thrust inside of me without remorse. My lips parted and I let out a little cry of pain against his mouth.

I parted my legs and his forceful movements slowed. His thumb coaxed my clitorous and his lips pressed soft, closed mouth kisses of comfort to mine. He continued to work his fingers in and out of me until they were slick. I felt a crush of shame.

I knew, on some basic level, that a woman, or a man for that matter, can become physically aroused during a sexual assault, but I never quite believed it. How did the horrific nature of the act not completely shut down your body’s response. Part of me still didn’t understand it, even as it was happening. I was humiliated, ashamed, angry, and I felt a build up of pressure between my legs that I could not stop. I think I would have rather he be violent. It would have been less cruel.

“Whore,” he breathed against my mouth as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of me. I could feel his smile against my skin.

“No,” I said weakly. “I’m not.”

I don’t know why, but it mattered to me that he didn’t think that. I wasn’t a whore. I didn’t hook up. Unless you counted that fling in law school, but I’d cried for weeks over that.

“Mine,” he added. I felt a shiver of disgust rush through me as I remembered finding those letters drawn over my skin. It still hadn’t faded, no matter how hard I scrubbed. I felt the black letters burn on my naked flesh.

His tongue pressed to mine. I kept my mouth open for him, but the grip on my hair wouldn’t have given me much of a choice either way. Abruptly he pulled back and with callous force spun me around. My body hit the futon hard and it scraped my skin. I’d had this futon since college. It was well cared for, but it was still an old futon.

My breasts crushed against the cushion. His hands curled around my hips hard and he yanked me closer to him. My body dragged along the futon and my hips were lifted upward. I got my forearms underneath me, but before I could get up onto my hands, he grabbed the back of my head and pushed it down onto the mattress.

He fumbled with his jeans. I could hear the sound of the button popping from the fabric, the sound of the zipper being yanked downward. My flesh was hot, tears leaked from behind my covered eyes. The pressure in my belly revolted me.

His erection pressed against the slick flesh. I felt the pressure, up and down, up and down, along the my wet opening. I wanted to cry and beg him to stop. My body trembled. He continued to rub and I heard a low sigh from him.

He entered me slowly. The tip of his erection slowly pressed into me. To my shame, he faced very little resistance. I moaned deep and low. Part uncontrollable pleasure, part absolute self-revulsion and disgust.

One hand grabbed my hip and moved me to give him a better angle inward. Once firmly inside of me, he grabbed my other hip, and slowly pulled me against him until my bottom was pressed to his hips.

He leaned forward, grabbed me by the hair, and turned my face to the side. He pressed on my cheek. Stay like that, he was telling me. He wanted to see my face. He pulled back and put his hands back on my hips. I wished I had something to bite into.

His movements began slow. He’d pull back, pushing my hips forward in a steady, controlled push and pull. Then he brought me back to him, movements just as slow and steady.

I had the absurd thought that at least he was handsome. I had no idea if this was true. He smelled clean, almost sterile, save the wintergreen breath. His body was tall, hard, fit, lean. Based on the pressure he was creating inside of me, his erection was quite large. Would this be worse if he was a fat, old, small pricked man with bad breath?

His movements grew faster. He brought me to him with more force. His fingertips dug into my skin harder and harder with each thrust. My face pressed hard into the futon, but at some point, he still felt the need to lean over my and pressed his hand to my face.

The full weight of him pressed down on my and he angled my hips upward. A low moan gurgled at the back of my throat and I bit down on my upper lip hard.

“Fuck yes,” he said. It was low, but it wasn’t the low or grating scratch he usually spoke with and I felt like I had been hit across the face. I DID know that voice. I knew it. I knew it... it was....it was...

His fingers pressed into my mouth. His middle and ring finger pressed down on my tongue and he continued with his hard, thrusting movements.

I bit my lip so hard it bled. I would not orgasm again. The shame was too great. He reached around me and placed his fingers between legs. He rubbed at my clit with hard, forceful movements and before I could register it, a ripple coursed through me. Fought back a moan, and then I lay limp. He continued his thrusts until finally, he tended above me. He ripped me upward. His lips were, smiling, panting against my cheek. Finally, he shuddered, and released me. I fell onto the futon and he slid out of me. I could feel, slowly, hot and wet, his climax oozing out of me and I curled up into a ball on the couch.

He left me there to cry for some time. Or at least it felt like it. When he did return, he sat on the floor in front of me, and gently stroked my wet cheek. I sniffled and curled my face away from him. I thought he might hit me, but he took to stroking my hair instead.

I almost fell asleep, lulled by the touch, when he gently gripped my shoulder and rolled me onto my back.

I heard a pop and the strong smell of indelible marker came to my nose. I jerked, bringing my hands up to my chest. He moved with amazing speed, and straddled my hips. He forced my hands underneath his thighs, and try as I might, I could not break my hands free from him. .

“Please just stop,” I wept pathetically. “Please. I’m begging you. Stop.”

I felt the cold press of the marker just under my right rib cage. It drew downward in slow, steady movement. It did not get far. Just a short, single line. He added the exact same directly beside it. I heard the click and the pen capped.

I stayed there in silence until the cold reality slowly crept through me. Two lines. He was counting my orgasms.

I burst into tears again and he began to laugh.  _ Laugh _ . It only made me cry more. He leaned down, lifting his hips up, and I was able to get my hands free. I reached for my blindfold. I almost had it. I felt the fabric brush the tips of my fingers. His hands closed around my wrists hard and firm. He yanked my hands downward and flipped me over onto my stomach with fast, purposeful movements. His knee pressed to my back and I struggled to break free, but in no time at all, my wrists were firmly secured behind me. He flipped me over, sat on my legs, and slapped me hard across the face. I continued to struggle. The next blow knocked the wind out of me and I went still. He waited to see if I would continue my struggling. I simply lay limp. 

Suddenly, he fixed the blind fold on my head. I took some deep breaths so calm myself. I still felt the cold of those two lines. Freezing. Itchy. Hot. My lower lip trembled and eyes filled up.

He took me by the arm and led me off the futon. He pushed me down to sit on the floor and I felt the warmth of the radiator beside me. My hands were brought down and I was tied to the fixture that kept the radiator fixed to the floor. He tightened the blind fold and then stepped away.

I sagged downward, pressed my feet flat to the floor and huddled near the radiator. He went into the bathroom. Smacking porcelain, the sound of urinating, and then more smacking porcelain. If I had not been struggling so hard to stop the tears from bursting past my eyes, I might have laughed. At least he was good enough to put the seat down.

The shower turned on. I sat up, hopelessly believing he might honor my request for a shower. But the water ran and turned off and I was never removed from the radiator. His heavy footsteps crossed the floor. The tv turned on, the fridge opened and closed, and footsteps moved to the futon. I sat there waiting. I think I fell asleep, because I started away by a soft hand on my shoulder. It slowly caressed my neck and cheek. 

The soothing touch ended, and I felt the tug at the zipties. My hands were released from the radiator. The two zip ties still remained around either wrist. I rose on shaky legs. They had fallen asleep beneath me. I felt groggy and a bit nauseous. I was certainly asleep. He sat me down on the futon. His hand gently pet the top of my head. He disappeared. Footsteps. Then something pressed to my lips. My mouth opened on impulse and I found a straw. I sucked with blind trust. The moment the water touched my tongue, I realized how desperately thirsty I was. I sucked down greedily until the glass was empty. He disappeared again. Next, bread was placed into my hand. I brought it to my lips. A peanut butter and jelly. My favorite. I ate it up greedily. After that breakfast, it had to be late for me to be so hungry. He offered me more water. I drank it down and then he disappeared again.

I waited on the couch, still groggy. My stomach was knotted. It still felt empty. The water and sandwich were not sitting well. I curled my arms across my stomach and leaned forward so my elbows were pressed to my knees. I took some deep breaths. The futon crushed down beside me. A large hand pressed to my back.

“Can I please shower?” I asked. His fingers ghosted down my spine. He caressed a few moments. I felt a gentle tap between my eyes, pressing down the fabric of the blindfold. I vowed, “I won’t look. You have a mask.”

He tucked some of my hair that was coming loose behind my ear. My pony tail was a mess.

“Can I fix my hair? Please?”

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His hand gently slid back down my back, finger tips traveling upward along my spine, and then his flattened hand traced the path downward.

“Please?” I asked softly. He straightened me up. His finger tapped either eye and then my nose.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” I promised solemnly. He took my up and turned me away from him. Slowly, he removed the blindfold. However it stayed on, it was secure. It fell away from my eyes and it took everything in me to open them. I kept them shut though. If I saw him I was dead. It was that simple.

“If I look at you, I’m dead,” I told him. I wanted him to know I understood that. “I won’t open my eyes.”

I said it out of hope he would let me shower, but he only combed through my dirtying hair with gentle fingers. He tenderly pulled out snags and once or twice I heard the sound of his hand smacking the air. Trying to get rid of the long strands my scalp was shedding no doubt. Once done, he brought my hair up into a high pony. It was how I wore it at work. The blind fold returned. I fought the urge to ask him to leave it off, but I fell silent.

“Thank you,” I said instead. He grabbed me by the chin and placed a kiss to my mouth. I did not react. He kissed me again. I tried to kiss him back, but I remained rigid. It seemed to please him. Then he put me back down on the futon. The TV switched and I heard the Bruins announcer droning on excitedly. It was a matinee game. It was 3:00pm on Saturday then.

He came back to the futon and sat down beside me. He positioned me so I was lying down, my head on his thigh. I curled up on the futon and tried to steady my breathing. I could feel my heart in my chest.

One of his arms draped across the length of my body. The other moved just inches from my face. I heard a metallic sound. Plucking buttons. A zipper.

I tried to sit up but the arm holding me there pressed firm.

“Shhh,” he said. My face was angled upward to rest on his abdomen. His fingers pressed hard into my cheek and he kept me pressed down against his belly. I felt hot flesh touch my lips and I tried to squirm away. I felt a rush of disgust and horror. I couldn’t do THAT.

The gentle hand turned cruel and he yanked on my hair so hard I cried out in pain. The hardened flesh was put back to my lips. It pressed to my closed mouth, massaging my lips back and forth, back and forth. I felt the wetness of precum on my lips.

He pressed more firm, his hand tightened in my hair. I opened my mouth and I screwed my eyes shut tightly beneath the blindfold. He shoved his cock into my mouth, flat against my tongue, deep to the back of my throat. He was clean, I reminded myself as he pulled back and pressed the head of his cock onto my tongue. He kept good hygiene. He had showered. He rubbed the head of his weeping cock along my mouth. I tried to squirm away, but he wrapped an arm around my head and held me firm. I tried to move my head but found it impossible. 

“Suck it, whore,” he ordered, gravelly and low. I hesitated but before he could pull at my hair again, I obeyed. His hand moved beneath my chin, stroking to part of his erection not inside my mouth. “Like you like it,” he said sharply. I flinched, but closed my lips around the firm member. I lowered my head down, taking just a bit more of him into my mouth, and then pulled back. He grabbed the back of my head and forced my downward. I gagged as he bumped into the back of my throat but he continued to push downward. I erupted backwards when he released my head. His hand went back into my hair and he pulled me downward. He was kinder this time. After a few moments of stroking his wet cock against my cheek, he pressed it back into my mouth. He pushed me downward, but relented when I showed resistance.

“Good girl,” he whispered. It wasn’t that grating voice he was using, but I didn’t have the same rush of familiarity I’d had earlier. I tried to think back. I had known who it was. It had been right there, on the tip of my brain. Now it was gone. I couldn’t bring the voice back. I couldn’t play it again in my head. He grabbed me by the pony tail and pulled his cock from my mouth. My neck arched backward, and he rubbed the head of his cock across my lips again, this time in slow, steady strokes. He whispered again, “that’s a good girl.”

He put his cock back in between my lips. I tried to do what I could to keep him from getting violent. His touch remained firm but not overtly painful. Without warning he pulled me off of him and flung me onto my back.

He did not climb on top of me. He wrapped his arms around my legs and he dragged me toward him so my bottom was in his lap and my back fell flat along the futon.

His fingers found me bone dry and I felt a rush of triumph at that. I felt his breath against me and then a splat of dampness. He’d spit on me. His fingers rubbed the saliva into me with slow, meticulous motions. I knew what he was doing but I would not let him succeed again.

My hips were lifted upward and his mouth closed around my clit. He sucked on it hard and my hips bucked. He pulled back and dragged his tongue along the length of me. I tried to wrestle away but he held my firm. He blew hard on the sensitive bud and he pressed his mouth down again. His tongue pressed to it, massaging it firmly with the hot, wet muscle.

My hands reached down and I pressed at his head. I almost, almost, closed my hands around the mask to get a better grip to push him away with, but I was terrified he’d think I was trying to unmask him. My fingers curled and released immediately.

His mouth remained on my clit and a finger pressed inside of me. I felt the ripple and a release. I was crying again. My hands were pressed to my blindfolded face and my shoulders heaved. He licked me a fire more times, base to clit, like a panting dog, and I knew he’d seen it too. He pulled back and took hold of my elbows with either hand. He pulled me up to straddle his lap with ease. I was very tired. I didn’t have a lot of fight in me. I sagged against him. I didn’t have the energy to sit up straight. He clicked his tongue at me in disapproval. His hands lifted me up at the bottom and his cock pressed to my leaning entrance.

“Whore,” he whispered in my ear as he pressed himself at my entrance. I let out a sob and he lowered me down along the length of his pulsing shaft. I only hoped it wouldn’t take that long. His arms wrapped around me and he gripped either side of my bottom. He lifted me up and lowered me down with slow movements. His lips were pressed to the side of my face and he whispered, “my whore.”

The whisper held no hint of familiarity. “It’s ok to like it,” he added. He sucked my earlobe into his mouth. He lifted me up and down, and each time he lowered me down, I felt him, large and hot, stretching me apart. His tongue licked along the shell of my ear. His breathing was elevated. 

My body tensed and I felt a terrible discomfort in my lower belly. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted him to leave me alone so I could go to sleep. Go to sleep and forget all about this. 

Slowly, as I struggled the feeling of my body expanding and tightening around him, the rapid emptying of my insides, and then the forceful refilling, I felt a horrifying realization spread over me. It was happening again.

I pressed on his chest to try and separate myself from him, but he held me firm to him. He rapped one arm around me and used the other to better lift me up and down. I felt so small. Cocooned by this man. I let out a little sob. “Shh,” he breathed in my hair. “Shhh. Be a good girl.”

He continued his movements, pushing and pulling me up and down, up and down. He sucked on my earlobe, placed kisses behind my ear. A few times he was about to speak, but stopped himself. I was disappointed. I had been so close to pinning him down. I had to know him. That rush of familiarity hadn’t been from the two times he’d been in my apartment. I  _ knew  _ this man. I simply couldn’t place him. I breathed in deeply, trying to catch a scent, but I only smelled the sterile smell of unscented soap and wintergreen toothpaste.

I felt the rush, the pulse, and my body quivered. He climaxed very shortly afterward and I fell against him in a heap. I was sobbing. My shoulders shook and my blindfold was saturated. My face was pressed to his neck, my head resisting on his shoulder. His arms closed around me and he embraced me warmly. One hand rubbed gently circles along my back. The other stroked my hair.

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “It’s ok to like it.”

He shifted us. He lowered me down to my back and settle on top of me. He placed kisses along my neck and collar bone. His lips moved downward, along the swell of my breasts, and then to my nipples. I was crying softly, face contorted and tears dampening the blindfold. 

“Please stop,” I begged him. “Please leave me alone.” 

“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered. I heard the click. Smelled the overwhelming scent. “Dirty little slut.” 

The marker pressed to my skin, cold and wet. He added one line. Slow and careful. He savored it. He added a second. How could something that was so cold, feel so hot? 

He capped the marker and gently traced the lines he had drawn. One. Two. Three. Four. I brought my hands up to cover my face. My shoulders shuddered. His large hands closed around either wrist and he pulled my hands away. His lips covered mine, soft and firm. His kisses were soft and tender. “Dirty whore,” he whispered. He pleased a tender kiss to my mouth, gently sucking my bottom lip between his. “Stupid cunt.” another little kiss to the lips. This time out tongues touched. His hand gently gripped my chin. 

“Are you a dirty whore?” he whispered quietly. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Answer me. Are you a dirty whore?” 

To my shame, I nodded, because I knew it was what he wanted to hear. 

“Are you a filthy slut?” 

I nodded again. He kissed the tip of my nose. He kissed my jaw. “Say it. I’m a dirty whore.” 

“I’m a dirty whore,” I whispered, voice breaking. 

“I’m a dirty little cock slut.” 

“I’m a- a - a-” I hiccuped and sniffled. 

“Shhhh,” he soothed me. He stroked the top of my head. “I’m a dirty little cock slut.” 

“I’m a dirty little-little cock slut.” 

“Say thank you,” he whispered. I searched for familiarity but found done. It was a simple, disembodied, ghost of a whisper. If I knew this man, and I was sure I did, I’d never heard him whisper like this. 

“Thank you,” I said, tears leaking from my closed eyes. 

“For making me cum,” he added. 

“For making me cum.”

“Like the dirty whore I am.” 

“Like the dirty whore I am.” 

“Say it all together now,” he instructed. His thumb pressed to my lips. My lips parted and he put his thumb into my mouth. I sucked on it. I knew it was what he wanted. I cannot explain why I did it. He slowly removed his thumb and traced my lips. 

My voice was trembling, but I stuttered out, “thank you for making me cup like the dirty whore I am.” 

He lowered down and placed another kiss to my lips. He slowly lifted himself off of me. He disappeared a few moments. I heard him in the kitchen. I simply laid there, my hands pressed to my face, smothering my sobs. 

He returned and placed two pills between my lips. I swallowed them without question. He disappeared again, but returned with my fleece blanket I kept at the foot of my bed. He covered me with it and I clutched it tightly under my chin and rolled onto my side. I sniffled and curled my face inward, doing my very best to hide. He returned and collected me. I offered no resistance, but all he did was lay his head down on my lap.

“Can I please shower?” I whispered. His fingers gently brushed my hair. He said nothing. The channel changed. I was vaguely familiar with the movie. 

I did not fall asleep. It was more like I slowly yo-yoed in between. One moment I could hear the tv clearly, the next I was at my office desk, jabbing my fingers into my calculator as I frantically tried to complete the Calc. 

I moaned in protest when I felt his hands lift me upward, but I did not resist. I waited for another assault, but he only brought me over to the bed. I sat there, exhausted, shoulders hunched. He came back over to me and sat beside me on the bed.

I felt pressure on my lips and opened my mouth. I was greeted with a mouthful of mac and cheese. I ate it greedily, waiting impatiently for the next spoonful to be brought to my lips. Once I had finished eating, he brought me into the bathroom. Just as we had this morning, he had me brush my teeth and use the bathroom.

He brought me back to the bed and got me under the covers. I was hopeful this meant he was leaving, but he crawled in beside me. He was still fully clothed. 

“You won’t kill me, will you?” I asked. 

He put his finger to my lips. I fell silent and waited. He hesitated and then got out from under the covers.. I heard running water and dishes clinking. Then the heavy footsteps and the rumbling of fabric. The blankets were pulled back beside me and the mattress pressed down. He tilted my chin upward and placed another pill on my tongue. 

“My medications, some of them can’t mix -” He placed a finger to my lips. A can with a straw pressed to my lips and I swallowed the pill. 

He settled in beside me. My head rested on his arm and he leaned over me. I could feel his presence just in front of me, commanding, looming. A single finger tip touched the top of my forehead and slowly trailed downward. 

“Please don’t leave me tied up,” I told him. His knuckles traced along my cheekbones. “Please, I can’t be late for work on Monday.” 

“Shhh,” he soothed. His finger trailed down the bridge of my nose. Over my lips. Along my jaw. The touch was gentle. A feather light touch. It almost tickled. His finger trailed in a curled along the outline of my face. I focused on the sensation. It was not at all unpleasant. Around. Around. Around. Soft, soothing, leaving a delicate tremble in its wake.

“I can’t - my boss…” my voice was fading. I focused on the touch. 

“Shhh….” he whispered. “Shhh. Go to sleep.” 

“Don’t… please don’t… leave me… tied…” 

Soft, soothing circles. 

“Shh. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised. I nodded. 

“I need to be… I can’t be…” 

I stopped, too tired to continue. I focused on the gentle touch of his finger tips. It was to that feeling, that I gently fell off to sleep. 


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the support! Loving your thoughts! Honestly, the way I have the story planned, you'll know who the stalker is probably about a quarter into the story. Maybe closer to half way through, but a large portion of the story is going to occur with the identity of the stalker known. 
> 
> There are some mixed ideas as to who it is. I just hope once the person is revealed, none of you will be too upset if it isn't who you think it is/want it to be. 
> 
> Glad you're enjoying it!
> 
> (For my American readers - #BradyistheGOAT)

Her body was perfect. Soft and warm and welcoming. I almost fell asleep, nestled in close to her body, her curves pressed against the length of my body. Her hair was growing greasy, but she still smelled delicious. Cherries and strawberries and something uniquely her own. I breathed in deeply against her messy bun. I longed for sleep, but she needed to be bound before I found sleep. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 

A report was due Monday morning. It was something that should have been done already but my work laptop was still resting on my desk at the office and hers was resting on her bean bag chair. She’d be beside herself when she finally checked her emails and realized that I had accepted the job because she did not respond. Emailed at 7:45pm on a Friday and she didn’t answer. She’d get a terrible talking to on Monday. 

My blood rushed downward. I could see her big green eyes now. Damp, frightened, full of stress. It was my deal. She’d come to me. Contrite, apologetic, or cold and defiant? I pressed myself against her. If she went to him, she’d pay for it. I’d make sure of that. I shot off my email response. If I got to the office around 4:00am on Monday, I’d get it done by 8:00am. 

I rolled off the bed and went to rummage through my bag. I retrieved her spare keys and the copies I had made. Looking over them carefully, I found the ones with the little nicks and the specks of green paint. I placed them back up in the cabinet above the fridge. I put the spares in my pockets and walked back to the bed. I tried jostling her awake. She moaned softly, made a soft retort about sleeping, and then fell silent against. I bound her nonetheless, pulling her head up over her head and securing her to the bedframe. I stepped out of the door and made sure to lock every lock. I had to protect the vulnerable body within. 

I shoved my gloved hands in my pocket and kept my head down as I walked down the narrow hall, passed the peeling paint and the decrepit elevator. I used the stairs, keeping my head down as I hurried down the old, narrow wooden stairs. The building was too old and rundown to have cameras, but I kept my chin pressed to my chest none-the-less. 

Outside, the air was frigid. Steam came from between my lips in plumes. Immediately, I thought of her lying in bed inside. I thought about pressing myself into her warm, soft, embrace. I let out a deep breath. I let the steam rush out into the freeing air, watching as it lit up bright in the lamp light. 

I moved onward, down the curve of the street and toward the Walgreens. If I kept walking and turned right on Harvard street, and walked about twenty or so minutes straight, I’d come to my own apartment building. It was the root I walked Friday night after work. I got home, changed out of my suit, grabbed my prepacked bag, and went marching down the road. Her apartment building, though run down, was in a fine area. 

I kept my head down, hands buried in my pockets, and walked passed the sliding doors and into the warmth of the store. I blinked into the lights and walked straight to the fridges. I grabbed a six pack of beer and went to the register. I paid in cash. The girl at the register was too busy trying to flirt with me to card me. 

I thought of her lying back in the apartment. The curves of her body, the color of her nipples, the tightness of her pussy, the sound of her moans. I gave a tight smile and waited for my change to be handed back. I left and walked back with curt, quick strides. I wanted to be back in her apartment. I wanted to be back inside of her. 

I opened the door for a group of drunk girls before stepping back into the apartment building. They giggled at me and I felt a flash of rage. Once again, I flashed a smile, and then moved onward. I walked down to the far stairwell and climbed up the steps. I found her right back where I left her. I put the beer in the fridge, peeled off my coat, kicked off my shoes, and climbed onto the bed. She was breathing softly. 

I pressed myself to her, letting her warmth seep into my chilled bones. I lay there a while, taking in the warmth of her. I wanted her at the end of a hard work day. I wanted to go home and have her there to comfort me. Her warmth, of softness… the comfort and pleasure she offered. My blood began to stir.

I sat up and gently rolled her onto her back. Straddling her, I pulled up my camera and took a few more pictures. A couple months ago, I stumbled upon a video of a girl that looked just like her. I’d watched it on repeat, beating myself off until my flesh was raw. I started looking for more and more and more. The more degrading the better. I thought it might satiate me. More than once, after I left her cubicle, I went to the bathroom and imagined bending her over her desk, grabbing her by the hair, and fucking her until her vocal cords were raw. She pervaded my thoughts. I’d bring a girl home from the bar and close my eyes and I’d imagine it was her beneath me. But soon even that didn’t work. She’d moan and pant and beg beneath me and it ripped me out of the fantasy. They didn’t sound like  _ her _ . I could only hope these pictures could get me through any lingering needs I had after this weekend. 

I grabbed her by the chin and turned her face to the side. I gently removed the blindfold from her so I could see her face. My lips curved upward ever so slightly. I pressed my fingers into her mouth and tilted her head backward. Her lips parted and I took a picture. My cock got hard beneath my jeans. Her cheeks were still pink, her hair damp with sweat. It looked like she was conscious, in the midst of ecstasy, her nipples hard and breasts full, the word whore still drawn brazenly along her skin. 

I swiped through the photos I had taken earlier in the day. My body burned. I pulled at my belt buckle and yanked down on my zipper. There is something exhilarating about fucking an unconscious woman. I do not need a woman unconscious, I do not prefer a woman unconscious, but the ability to do as you please without the slightest bit of resistance. Absolute dominance. Absolute control. I pushed on her right thigh, pushing her leg upward and leaving it at a right angle. 

I felt the violent urge to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. It was fleeting and it passed. I removed my throbbing cock from my jeans and settled myself over her.  _ You have control,  _ I told myself.  _ You have control.  _ It calmed me. I rubbed the head of my cock along her pussy. It was soft, puffy, and pink. I massaged the weeping head of my erection against her opening.  _ She belongs to you. That’s your pussy. You do what you want with it.  _

I let out a low breath and pushed the head of my cock into her. I pulled it back out and rubbed against. Up and down along the wet folds of her pussy. 

_ Look how wet she gets for you. Do what you want with her. She’s yours. She’s here for you.  _

“For me,” I murmured. I pressed my cock back into her pussy. I pushed inside of her slowly. 

_ What are you doing here?  _ she had asked, face contorting with confusion.  _ I wanted to make sure you got home alright,  _ I had answered. I had removed my suit jacket as she lay back on the bed. I had pulled at my tie. I had hardly been able to breath. 

_ What-what- C- _ ” she had sputtered. 

_ I deserve it after today, don’t you think?  _

I elevated her hips to get in deep. I fucked her hard. She breathed and moaned and panted and I think she woke up. It was a sleeping pill, it wasn’t GHB. I buried my face in her neck and sucked. I saw her clutching at the shirt around her neck. Let her try and hide this. 

I fisted her hair hard and nipped at her cheek. She moaned. My blood rushed hard. “That’s right. Take it. Take it.” 

She moaned again. I shifted her hips. I fucked her harder.  _ She belongs to you. Do what you want with her. She’s yours. She’s yours. She’s yours.  _

I groaned low. My spine tensed. My hips bucked. My entire body trembled and I pulled out of her. Still panting and sweating, I got off of her and spread her legs wider. I pulled out my phone as my cum slowly began to seep out of her. I’d never seen anything more arousing. I set my phone to record. I slipped my pointer and middle finger between her legs and spread them. My cum, thick and white, slowly oozed out of her. I shifted my fingers, pressing my middle finger into her and using my ring finger to hold her folds apart. I removed my middle finger. I scooped up a glob of cum on my pointer and middle finger. I slipped it between her lips. I snapped a picture. I rubbed my fingers on her lips. Tomorrow, I’d cum on her face. I’d cum in her hair. I’d cover her in my cum until she’d feel it on every part of her and she’d never be able to get it off of her. 

Her fingers closed around my fingers. My lips parted. “Suck,” I instructed. She obeyed. I reached to my left and groped for my mask. I managed to get it on my head with one hand. 

“Open your eyes,” I breathed. I was breathing hard. Her eyes fluttered and then opened. Her gaze was groggy and tired. 

“Say ‘fuck me harder daddy’,” I ordered. I pressed my thumb to her lips and hit record. 

“Fuck me harder daddy,” she said. I pressed my thumb between her lips. She sucked on impulse. I scanned down the length of her. I pinched a nipple. I groped a breast. I brought the camera back up. 

“Like that?” I whispered. I pressed my fingers into her. She was still slick with my cum. She moaned softly, brow furrowing and lips pressing together tight. “Tell me.” 

“I like it,” she breathed, voice slurring slightly. I pumped my fingers in and out of her. I curled my fingers inside of her. From an early age, I enjoyed bringing a woman to orgasm. It fueled my ego. As a teenager, I would listen to friends talk about how hard it was to get a girl to cum. It wasn’t worth it. It was so much work. I’d always enjoyed it. Putting my mouth to a woman, feeling her writhe and moan, turning her into a mess of jelly, hearing her moan for  _ me,  _ thank  _ me _ . A female reaching orgasm, was one of the most arousing things there was. She moaned freely, panted, cheeks flushed. Intermittently, she would open her eyes and look at the camera. Her orgasm ripped through her, the freest and least restrained of all I’d experienced. 

Her moans were delicious. What it would be like to hear her… moaning and begging, looking up at me, saying my  _ name.  _ I shut off the camera and groaned. I wanted her to say my name. I wanted her to look me in the eyes and see  _ me.  _ I wanted her to know who it was doing this to her. I wanted her to know it was  _ me.  _

“Wha-Where-”

“Shhh, Shh,” I soothed her. I kissed her cheek. I licked the salty sweat from her throat. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I…” she moaned softly and shifted her hips. “What-”

“Shhh, shh,” I calmed. I stroked her hair. “Go to sleep, baby.” 

She slowly faded back to sleep. I kissed her temple, her cheek, her nose, her lips. I looked at her neck. The mark was growing there. Dark purple at the center, rippled red and pink around the edges. I left her briefly to retrieve my marker. I added the next line. I dragged it slowly, diagonal along the rest. 

I wanted to fuck her again. I grabbed for my softened member in my jeans and stroked it hard and fast. But my body was spent. I had all day tomorrow. I’d wake up and put her mouth on my cock. She’d suck me clean and lick my balls until I could dump my load in her hair. I’d put on the football game and drink my beer and fuck her hard in the ass during halftime. I brought her hands up over her head. That’s something I haven’t done. Could I get her to cum with my cock shoved up her ass. What sounds would she make? She’d cry and sob and moan and cum like the fucking whore she was. 

I laid down beside her. I pressed my lips to her neck. I rubbed my nose against her skin. I caressed her belly and her breasts. I breathed contentedly against her. I pressed myself to her. Sleep began to claw at me. I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to stay awake and feel her against me, take in her scent, feel her warmth. My arms tightened around her. I breathed in deeply. 

I fought sleep, only to enjoy the feel of her a bit longer. One thing was certain though. This weekend was not going to be enough to get her out of my system. 


	7. 7

_ Day Three:  _

I think the hardest part of those three days was the darkness. When I woke up on the third day, I would have given anything to take off my blindfold and open my eyes. When my eyes fluttered beneath the thick fabric, and I felt the weight of his arm draped around my middle, his breath, slow and steady in my ear, I wondered if keeping my eyes closed for so long could make me go blind. I immediately discarded the thought. 

He shifted behind me, let out a little groan, tensed, and then relaxed again. It was impossible for me to know what time it was. I couldn’t tell if it was dark or light, morning or night. I’m not sure exactly how long I lay there before he shifted behind me and his lips gently began to caress to my neck. He groaned softly against and then shifted once more. Once again, he fell still. 

It took everything in me to remain still. Once again, I struggled with the fight between remaining still and postponing the inevitable, and the overwhelming desire to move my humming limbs. At some point, he let out a low breath and then pushed himself up from the bed. I knew my breathing was not exactly measured, but I kept as still and calm as possible as he lowered his face to my cheek. I felt him there, hovering over me, listening to my breath, looking at my face, breathing in the smell of me? I could not be sure, but eventually, he rose from the bed without harming me and ventured to the bathroom. He ground the beans and began sautéing onions and garlic. 

The zip ties around my wrists were beginning to ache and my muscles protested every moment I laid there still. My legs moved first, mostly on their own accord and I shifted onto my back. If I got his attention then or not, I cannot be sure, because I was left there. I heard mugs clinking. Smelled bacon sizzling. I pulled on my arms to try and release some of the tension in my cramping muscles. 

His footsteps were soft as he crossed from the kitchen to the bed. His boots weren’t on. As he unfastened my wrists and led me into the bathroom, I suddenly felt incredibly thirsty. My throat was dry and my lips had grown chapped. 

As he had yesterday, he left me to care for myself, but I felt his presence close by as I relieved myself. Just as I finished washing my hands, he took me by the elbow and guided me from the bathroom. He sat me on the futon. He gave two squeezes to my arms and then walked away, leaving me unrestrained. The zip ties were still around an individual wrist, but I was able to slip a finger beneath each one and give some relief to the raw skin. I groped for the throw blanket draped along the back of the Futon and wrapped it around my shoulders. The room was warm, he had turned the heat up, but I felt better with the soft fabric draped along my shoulders.

He returned after a couple of moments. The blanket was yanked away from my shoulders and I felt the rush of air as he tossed it over onto the beanbag chair. I flinched but I’m not sure if the blanket ever came anywhere near me. A cup of coffee was put into my hands. I traced my fingers along my school seal. 

“I don’t know who you are,” I forced out, voice hoarse. Usually, I found solace in sitting quietly in a group of people, avoiding attention and sliding through the interactions without saying a single word. But now, the silence weighed heavily on me and I could not prevent myself from speaking. “Are you going to kill me?”

I didn’t think he would. I would have expected more violence from him if that was his plan. I doubt he would have seen to all of my needs as he had. Unless this was some sort of sick game.

I did not receive a response. He wrung my hands together until my knuckles were bulging and white in my lap. I curled my toes underneath my feet and pressed my heels into the carpet beneath me. I sipped carefully at the coffee. 

I thought of everyone I knew. Who could it possibly be? I couldn’t understand it no matter how hard I tried. There was no one in my life that had shown any sort of recent romantic interest in me, let alone the type of obsession or aggression that would lead to an act of this nature. I wracked my brain for who I thought was capable of such a thing. 

Everyone on the SALT M&A was clearly out of consideration. I passed over the lot of them in my brain with only cursory thought, but knew it wasn’t worth the time. I spent some time considering the FED team, but that didn’t make any sense either. None of them fit the image I had constructed of this man in my brain. None who had his build had his height. None who had his height had his build. The rest were all women, and this was clearly a man. 

I turned next to everyone else I came into contact with on a daily basis. The guy that worked at Starbucks on the bottom floor of the building? He was too pudgy. The doorman? He was about forty, this person seemed young, but it could be him. He was in fine shape and looked well groomed. Someone from compliance? I thought of David. It wasn’t him. David’s voice wasn’t this deep.

Perhaps someone from law school? My fling was out. He was married and moved back to Texas with his wife. There had been a kid named Jimmy that had an obvious crush on me, but he was short and had been skinny as a rail. This man towered over me. 

I took a sip of my coffee. 

It  _ had  _ to be someone at work. He knew exactly how I took my coffee. We shared our break room with the H&R Block people. Could it be one of them? I often overheard them talking at lunch when I went to retrieve my PB&J from the fridge before returning to my desk to finish my report. It would make sense I might recognize one of their voices. I was in there almost everyday. An obsession like this is bred from proximity most often than not right? Or was this some nut off the street? No, I had known his voice. It had been at the tip of my tongue. Right there. I knew him. It was not a familiarity that came from a single brief passing interaction. I’d heard his voice more than once. 

It sent a shiver down my back.

I jumped a mile as I felt the futon shift beside me. His hand, massive and warm, closed around the back of my neck. I felt something hover in front my lips and, very hesitantly, I opened my mouth. The spoonful of eggs was a relief and his hand slowly trailed down my back. The touch was gentle. It would have been soothing under other circumstances. 

“People will start looking for me if I don’t show up for work tomorrow,” I told him after my first mouthful was swallowed. My next spoonful was some chopped potatoes, cooked to perfection. I breathed out, “I really don’t want to die.”

“Shhh,” he soothed softly. Another mouthful of eggs. I ate in silence until I heard the fork clink against the plate and it was placed beside me. His hands continued to pet me gently, stroking my hair, running up and down my arms. My muscles tensed. There was an intense tightening of the muscles in my neck, just at the base of my scalp, and pain radiated upward. 

“Please, just tell me what you’re going to do,” I rushed out.  I smothered a little sob and my shoulders shook. He hushed me again, voice low. He put an arm around me and scooted closer. His embrace was comforting. His lips were warm against my temple. He breathed in deeply. When I tried to shy away, his hand flattened against the top of my head and applied gentle pressure. He held me firm. His lips touched my cheek. His tongue flicked my earlobe. My body trembled as I waited. 

“Shhh,” he said softly. He removed the elastic from my increasingly greasy hair and ran his fingers through it. He placed my head to his chest and I rested there as I tried to fight through the sudden rush of panic. His hands stroked my cheek as he held me to him. The intimacy of it was a thin veneer over the violent truth of it all. It was painfully surreal. It felt like my head was full of water. I felt the rise and fall of my pulse pumping blood frantically through my veins. 

“Can I have a Xanax? Please?” I asked. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. His nose was in my hair. He nuzzled me, his cheek to the top of my head. I waited, throat so tight and dry it ached. Slowly, he released me from his hold. He rose from the futon and I listened to him in the bathroom. Whoever it was, he certainly had seen my slew of medications. I felt crippling shame. Whoever he was, now he knew how fucked up Orla Ellen Wright was. 

He returned shortly after and placed a pill on my tongue. He brought a fresh glass of water to my lips and I sucked it down. I took a few deep breaths and thought of my parent’s dogs, my niece, summers at the lake in New Hampshire. My heart rate slowed. His hands stroked me softly. Another pill was put on my tongue. He went to retrieve another glass of water. When I checked my birth control the next morning, I would find myself up to date, and so I believe the second pill had been my birth control. 

“Just say no or yes?” I asked. “Am I going to die?” 

He pressed his lips close to my ear and whispered, “no.” He kissed my cheek gently. He collected my hair in his hand until he had a firm grip at the back of my head. He lowered my face downward. I resisted on impulse. My muscles tightened and my body pulled back in the opposite direction. 

“Shhh,” he whispered, pushing me down with more force. The skin of my scalp burned and my body relented. I heard the clinking and zip of metallic before his hot flesh against my own.. The head of cock slid along my closed lips, pressing firmly and seeking entry into my mouth. 

He seemed content for a few moments and then pushed more firmly at my lips and tugged at my hair. My mouth opened and I let him slide the hardening flesh inward. It’s embarrassing, shameful, and I don’t understand why I didn’t fight more. The promise I would not die had subdued me. “Get me hard.”

He was already semi-erect. He stroked the section of his cock that he had not forced into my mouth. My tongue flicked against the head of his cock. It was impossible for me to say up until this point if he was circumcised or not, but either way, he was cl

He let me move my lips and flick my tongue timidly for a few minutes before he took advantage of the grip he had on my head and began to move my head back and forth along his shaft. He pushed until I gagged and then relented. He did it a second time, this time holding me there a few moments longer. I pushed on his thighs but his hands in my hair were too strong. He did not make me suffer long, but when he let me pull back, my eyes were watering beneath the blind fold.

He pulled his cock free and smacked it along my lips. My lips parted and the hand not in my hair reached into my mouth and grabbed my tongue. He pulled on it and I kept my tongue out of my open mouth. He rubbed his weeping head along my tongue before he began to move my head up and down. His fingers gently caressed the sides of my face as I licked up and down his long shaft. 

His breathing grew heavier. He pushed my hair back away from my eyes. His touch was frequent, controlling, but gentle. He stopped only long enough to nudge me off the futon and on my knees in front of him. 

He tilted my face upward so he could see me. I felt the hard, pulsing erection press to my cheek and then to my lips. 

“Good girl,” he breathed and pressed his cock back in between my lips. “Good girl.”

His touch grew harder, his thrusts more erratic. With a hard tug on my hair, he yanked my head backward so my face was nearly parallel with the ceiling.

I lips closed on impulse as I felt the first hot, wet gob of his climax hit my face. I felt another hot splash. He groaned softly and once done, the tip of his pulsating cock rubbed the speck of cum into my lips.

He squeezed my face and my lips parted. He dragged the head of his cock along my tongue and then released my head. I reached up to wipe the cum from my face but his hands seized mine and he yanked me around hard. I remained on the ground. But my back pressed hard into the futon. Fear seized me and my mouth flung open. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I shouted, though I wasn’t sure what I did. He placed a hard slap to my cheek and I fell quiet, turning my cum covered face to the side because I could not use my hands.

He lead me over to the radiator and fastened me there. When I realized he had no intention of wiping my face clean, my lower jaw began to tremble. 

He cleaned the kitchen. I pressed my face against the wall, trying to ignore the feel of his cum tightening and hardening against my skin. Dishes clinked, water ran, the fridge opened and closed. 

He took a shower. I felt a flair of rage. I sat on the floor, naked, bound and blindfolded, covered in marker and semen, body sore, raped how many times. I just wanted a shower. He came out and I wondered if he was going to leave soon. Then I heard the fridge, the crack of a can, and the TV turned on. A tremor coursed through me and I pressed my face more firmly into the wall, as if it might provide me with some comfort. 

I fought the urge to wipe my face along my shoulder, the radiator or the wall. I felt it on my skin. Burning, scorching, incredibly heavy. I knew better though. He left it there for a reason. I didn’t want to think about what he might do if I wiped my face clean. 

It felt like an eternity that he left me there. “I’m hungry,” I eventually voiced timidly. The sound of my own voice frightened me. I hadn’t even thought about speaking before the words came from my lips.

There was a pause and then movement. He crouched down in front of me and placed a straw between my lips. I sucked down the water greedily. He left again and then came back with food. He did not untie me. He placed the sandwich to my lips. It was someone who knew what I had for lunch everyday. After I finished the sandwich, he fed me a few salt and vinegar chips. Someone who went into that break room then. I got another few sips of water.

“Bathroom?” he asked, lower and gravelly. He was making an effort to disguise his voice. I struggled to place it again, but it only heard me head. I nodded. He collected me and brought me to the bathroom. By the time he sat me back down at the radiator, I still felt his hardened cum resting on my face and in my hair.

My only sense of time was from the TV, and when I heard the start of the football game I knew it was one. As long as that stretch of time tied to the radiator seemed to pass, the moment I heard the voices, my initial feeling was surprise it was so late. He got up and went to the fridge, it opened and shut and then, as he plopped down on the futon, I heard the cracking of a can again.

I leaned against the wall and numbly listened to the drawl of the announcers. It was some time at the beginning of the second quarter that he came to collect me. I caught the scent of beer on his breath and I was struck with a sudden cold rush of fear. He brought me to the futon and laid me down on my back. His hands were warm and gentle. At the very least, the alcohol had not seemed to make him more violent to this point, and I chose to take comfort in that. 

He spread my legs and my muscles tightened. I hated being blindfolded. I didn’t know what he was doing until he was right up against me. Hot breath, ghosting along my inner thigh before I felt the soft tingle of his lips. His lips massaged against my skin. His nose trailed down the soft flesh. My flesh quivered and my pussy clenched together tightly. By the time his lips had made their way up to the apex of my legs, my body was trembling rather violently. His hands caressed me softly. I swear, I felt a curve of his lips as he kissed my thigh again. 

I didn’t think I could take another humiliation. He sucked in a deep breath and then blew softly at my opening. I took in a deep, shuddering breath. His tongue touched me and I jerked up. Faster than a bolt of lightning he was up and gently pressing on my shoulders. His hands gently gripped my face under the chin. 

“Shhh,” he said softly. His hands lowered downward. He touched my breasts, fingers gently prodded at my nipples. His hands groped tightly. He bent his head. His teeth scraped along a nipple, then the other. He sucked greedily and then ducked his head lower. 

I tilted my head back, as if to look at the ceiling, but saw only darkness. He inserted two fingers into me. His hot mouth closed around my clitorous. I never felt comfortable when my ex-boyfriend had done it and I certainly did not like it now, but it was different. He did it because he liked it. His desire to bring me to orgasm was clearly born out of some sick desire to shame me, but that wasn’t the only reason he did it. It wasn’t just a means to an end. It was an end in and of itself. His tongue licked, his mouth sicked, and his teeth grazed with unbridled desire and not even the slightest hint of hesitance or distaste. 

I felt a tightening sensation, a rush, and then a little tremble rippled through me. He laughed, hot puffs of air against my damp cunt. 

“Th-That-That didn’t count,” I breathed. His lips left me and he loomed over me. My leg was tossed to the side, hanging over the side of the futon. He thrust into me abruptly but it did not hurt. I was quite ready for the invasion. I hated him, but he knew what he was doing. His hands reached beneath me and grabbed me by each ass cheek. He angled into me with purpose. Each hard, forceful thrust, designed for one purpose and one purpose only. The next little ripple that rushed through me was longer than the last, harder, more pronounced. He followed sooner after but I was already crying beneath the blindfold. 

“Did that count?” he asked darkly. I could feel the smirk in his whisper. Hiis tongue snaked along my earlobe. The feel of his hands squeezing my ass, pushing himself further inside of me despite his clear completion. Hit teeth nibbled at my earlobe. 

I was too busy crying. Finally he pulled off of me, but he returned with the acidic fumes of his marker and I felt the little line, so cold it burned, drag across my ribcage. I didn’t even know how many it was, I just knew one was too many.

I want to be clear. These weren’t mind numbing, moaning so loud you’d wake the neighbors orgasms. Every single one had a tinge of pain to it. It was a build up of pressure so great that when it came to a head there was nothing I could do to stop the ripple of tension from flowing through every muscle of my body in a much needed release. It was physical and physical only. During those three days, I never once felt his touch as anything more than a horrible violation, and though even then, on some basic level, I knew that, inside, I felt such a crippling sense of humiliation, shame, and self loathing, that I laid there for some time sobbing into my blindfold.

He left me to cry. He moved about the apartment like it was his and I remember praying that he’d just leave. The futon sat pressed beside me again. His hand cupped a breast, fingers gently tugging at my nipple until it turned into a hardened bud beneath his caress. I waited for him to speak, ears straining for anything I could use to identify him, but he remained silent.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I got out between strangled sobs and debilitating hiccups. His hand left my breast and gently caressed my wet cheek with his knuckles.

The pressure on the futon released and whoever this person was, he stood and returned to the kitchen. The water ran a moment and then he returned. A damp, hot rag gently pressed to my forehead. It trailed down slowly. He continued until my face was clean and tossed the rag to the side. His fingers gently caressed my face. 

By the time he stopped and gently pulled me up to a sitting position, the second half had started. He returned after the retrieval of a beer and draped his arm across my shoulder. He had me lean against his body, which was comfortably nestled in the corner of the futon. He draped his lags across the coffee table, and pulled my legs up over his. 

And then he just watched the football game. He only got up once to fetch another beer, but when he did, he made sure I was back in the same position, nestled comfortably in his lap, my head against his chest. His hand rested on top of my head. 

I fell asleep and woke with a start. My body jerked. My brain swelled in my skull. My heart raced. I reached out, pressing my hands out hard and swinging. His hands grabbed my wrists and he pushed me down to the couch. 

“Shh, shhh,” he soothed. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to my cheek. His body covered mine. It should have made it worse, but my breathing calmed and my body fell limp. He whispered in my ear, “You’re so fucked up.” 

I burst into tears. He left me there to cry. My hands covered my face, squeezing my blindfold tightly, but I made no attempt to remove it. When he came back, he sat me up. A cold glass of water was pressed to my lips. He pulled it back before I could finish. Two pills were put on my tongue. I took it and drank it down. 

“Shh,” he said as I cried. He pulled me closer, wrapping large, strong arms around me. He rubbed my shoulders. He stroked my hair. “It’s ok to be fucked up.” 

He lifted my face upward. I kissed him back because I knew he wanted me to. His tongue pressed to mine. His hand was gentle on the back of my head. He lowered me onto his back, but this time, he did not actively try to bring me to orgasm. He took his time. He kissed and caressed, rubbed and groped. 

I felt the pills start to take hold of me. My body relaxed. The tension in my limbs released. I heard my orgasm this time. It broke through my lips with a soft, genuine, breathy moan. He blew softly in my ear. He whispered, “So fucked up.” 

He kissed my lips. My jaw. My cheek. He picked me up from the futon and carried me into the bathroom. The shower turned on and he sat me down on the toilet. I have fallen asleep right there. His lips touched my ear.

“Eyes closed or I  _ will  _ kill you,” he whispered. I nodded. The blindfold fell away. It felt so good. Air rushed to my damp skin and it took everything in me not to let my eyes flutter open. I lowered my head and let them pop open. Only long enough to make sure I wasn’t blind. I blinked rapidly. I saw his feet. Black socks, dark blue jeans. He was standing just to my left in front of the sink. His feet turned toward me and I squeezed them shut. 

The spray of the water felt glorious. He nudged me inside, his grip on my arm firm. I lowered myself to sit on the ground. I pressed my head to the wall of shower and opened my mouth. 

It took me a while, through the haze and the comfort and the warmth, to realize that the comforting sensation of the hot soapy rag being dragged over my skin was not designed to soothe, but to destroy evidence. Even as I sat in the shower, I don’t think I was completely aware of it. He pressed the rag between my legs and scrubbed firmly, though I do not think he wanted to hurt me. 

I lowered my face downward. I shied away from the touch, but he persisted and there was only so far I could go in the cramped shower. He got beneath my arms, between my legs, my neck, shoulders, knees and toes. Not an inch of me wasn’t scrubbed down. He even lathered my hair. I know I fell asleep then, because one moment he was rubbing his fingertips into my aching scalp, and the next the water was off and my damp flesh was laid bare to the cold air. 

My eyes popped open. His hand covered my face so fast, I don’t think I registered a single thing that I saw. I know my eyes were opened but his hand closed over my eyes and forced my head to the back of the shower. 

“I didn’t see, I didn’t see,” I hurried out. His hand remained there. There were long, painful moments of silence. Slowly, his hand withdrew. His hand hovered in front of my face until finally, it fell away. My eyes stayed closed and he quickly wrapped me up in my large blue towel. I knew it was because no other towel I owned could get me this warm. 

He left me to stand in the middle of the bathroom for a few long moments. His arms were around me then, pulled me closer, and then gently placed his hand to my cheek. I wanted to open my eyes. He was standing right in front of me, his face directly before mine. If I opened my eyes, I’d know. My breath hitched. He breathed in deeply through his nose. The pad of his thumb was warm as he slowly dragged it along my lower lip. His knuckles traced along my cheek. His lips were right above mine. 

“You belong to me,” he whispered to me. I could hardly hear him, his voice was so soft. “Say it.”

“I belong to you,” I murmured. He kissed my mouth gently. It was oddly chaste. It felt wrong. 

He murmured against my mouth, “again.” 

“I belong to you,” I said. 

A low, audible breath escaped him. His thumb continued to caress my lips. I felt a charge. My eyes darted side to side rapidly behind my lids. I could feel him staring at me, face bare to his gaze without the blindfold covering my face. I felt a rush of air. A movement. He kissed me again. My heart nearly exploded. He’d taken off his mask. He kissed me more deeply, our tongues touching. 

“Again,” he breathed. 

“I belong to you.” 

He squeezed the back of my neck hard. He wanted me again. I could feel it. The air was thick and I felt far too sober. Like the pills had left me completely. But I couldn’t open my eyes, no matter how badly I wanted to. I breathed in deeply through my nose. Once again, there was nothing. Not a hint of cologne or body wash. Again, that ruled out anyone in SALT M&A. Every single man in that department wore enough expensive cologne to put the entire country of France to shame. 

He kissed me again. He whispered, his mouth still pressed to mind, his teeth ground together hard. “You. Belong. To me.” 

“I belong to you,” I whispered again. He pulled back and then gently lead me out of the bathroom. His breathing was a bit labored and he gently lowered me down to the futon, still wrapped in the towel. Another pill was put between my lips. He put me in my big robe and then lowered me onto my side. He stroked my cheek softly as the pill took hold. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was a frighteningly familiar voice telling me, “I’m not done with you yet.” 


	8. 8

I honestly don’t know how I managed to get from Brookline to Government center when it took me almost twenty minutes to get my green silk shirt buttoned that morning. The elevator doors opened and I was hit with the smell of the building. It always had a musty, sterile smell to it at the end of every weekend. The floors were freshly vacuumed, all the trash cans emptied, desks sprayed down. I felt a wave of nausea as I thought back to my apartment. Bed stripped, sheets, blankets and linen sitting in bleach in my shower. Every inch of my little studio scrubbed with anti-septic. Every dish, pan, cup, and piece of silverware he might have touched scrubbed clean. He’d even washed out the coffee maker. 

I glanced in the direction of Caleb’s office as I walked down my cubicle row. The light was on but I was granted one small mercy. He wasn’t inside. I dropped my things at my desk and made my way toward the break room. I checked to make sure my shirt was buttoned appropriately again. I made sure my black slacks were well creased and fully fastened. I couldn’t remember if I had locked my door when I left. I must have. Even if I couldn’t remember, after this weekend, I must have. 

I reached up to touch the top of my head. My hair was still damp. I had awoken, wrapped snugly in my robe on the futon, draped in my three throws, a soft pillow underneath my head. I reached up a hand. Had I brushed my hair? I reached up and pulled the elastic free and ran my fingers through my damp hair as I walked. I pulled it back up into a tight bun. One more run of the hand over my head and I was satisfied it was as smooth as it was going to be. 

I heard voices as I neared the break room. I slowed, but did not stop moving. Two men, laughing, low rumbles. 

“Look at the smile on your face,” Chris laughed. “Someone got laid this weekend.” 

“Couple of times,” came Caleb’s infuriating chuckle. 

“Good lay?”

“Oh yeah.” 

“Remember Ally from Contacts?” a pause. “She gives great head.” 

“Oh yeah? How was that?”

“Oh great. She did this thing -”

“I meant the party,” Caleb laughed. 

I came around the corner and didn’t break stride. The laughter broke off abruptly. Chris had the good sense to look embarrassed. Caleb kept that infuriating little smirk on his face. Caleb was leaning against the counter by the coffee maker, a hand in his pocket, the other bringing the coffee cup up to his lips. 

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Have a good weekend?” 

“Not as good as yours,” I answered and tossed my PB&J and chips into the fridge. I had fumbled over to the fridge, ready to make my lunch for the day, when I found the sandwich, premade and cut in my sandwich tupperware, a small ziplock bag of chips resting on top. 

“Good enough not to answer any emails, apparently,” he said from behind his mug. 

My hand had been on the handle of the coffee maker. I slammed it down hard. Hot coffee sloshed from side to side. 

My head whipped over so quickly I nearly threw my neck out. I looked at him with gawking lips, wide eyes, and lifted brows. Three days. I’d gone three days without looking at my emails. My insides tightened. My stomach plummeted to my toes. Did I even still have a job to show up to?

Caleb’s lips remained curved upward ever so slightly and his brow lifted upward as he took a small sip of his coffee. Hi slate grey eyes danced with amusement. I had to have been… fired. Why else would he find this so  _ funny?  _ He should be  _ furious.  _

“It’s fine, Ellie,” Chris said. He had a bite to his voice. “We took care of it.” 

“ _ I  _ took care of it,” Caleb clarified, pushing himself up from the counter. “You were getting your cock sucked.”

“Caleb!” Chris barked. 

I flinched and slammed my coffee cup down. Hot liquid burned my hand but I hardly felt it. Caleb mosied from the break room with his coffee in one hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his impeccably fitting blue suit.

“See you at eight, Orla,” Caleb called as he left the room. I pressed my hands flat to the counter and closed my eyes. Everything around me was springing. Black spots covered my vision. Chris got up from the table and approached, a concerned frown etched across his face. I felt sick to my stomach. My head began to pound. Hard heavy thuds in the back of my brain.  _ Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.  _

“Ellie, you OK? It’s really not a bi deal. Caleb’s just being an asshole.”

“What did I miss?” I asked, absolutely horrified. My eyes popped open and I fixed him with a frenzied stare. 

“Ellie, we took care of it. Caleb and I -”

“I didn’t look at my email at all. I um... I have to get to work.”

“Ellie,” Chris grabbed me by the arm and whipped me around. My eyes widened and he steadied me against the counter. I looked down. Every ounce of my body was tense, my ears were ringing. “It was the edits for Baybridge. It’s all done. Nothing else came up. Relax. You can’t let him get to you like that.”

“It’s not that... it’s... I just have to go. Please let me go.”

My eyes were angled down to the floor. He stepped closer. “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m fine,” I answered. I still couldn’t look up. I was aware I was trembling slightly. I brought up a hand to clutch at the top of my shirt. “I um... I had a rough weekend.”

Chris nodded thoughtfully. “About what you might have heard. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at work. I just -”

“It’s fine,” I said. I looked up and forced a smile. It took everything in me to burst into tears and I felt my face trembling. Chris had a deep frown on his face. I said with some bite, “Please let me go.”

He released me, looking surprised, and stepped back. I walked out without my coffee and made my way back to my desk. Caleb was in his new office, hand over his mouth, staring at his computer with a dark gaze. His jacket was off, and his crisp powder blue shirt showed off his broad, muscular shoulders.

I got into my chair and pulled up my email. Immediately I buried my face in my hands and tried not to cry. Twenty seven unread emails between Chris and Caleb from the email, trying to finish MY deal because I hadn’t responded.

I tried to work on my other deals until eight. I’d never not been able to focus. I had never been so absolutely unable to focus on a single thought. I almost forgot the Admin meeting scheduled for eight. I almost didn’t go on purpose. I had a fleeting thought that it might just be easier to go outside and throw myself in front of a bus. Did the windows open? How hard would it be to get to the roof?

I picked up my notebook and moved into the conference room. I took my usual seat. Caleb was already there, leaning back in his chair, rocking back and forth, twirling his pen in his hand. He had a satisfied little smile dancing across his lips and he looked at me very briefly as I passed by. He went back to his conversation with Mark. 

Just after sitting down, Chris leaned over and murmured, “You sure you OK?” 

“Please stop asking me that,” I said softly, giving him a forced smile. I glanced in Caleb’s direction. He was still talking to Mark about another deal, oblivious to me in the corner. The smug little smile on his face infuriated me. I had never wanted to hit someone so badly in my life. I decided then if I was ever going to give up on a high power career in the financial world, I’d quit by walking up to that smug asshole in the middle of a meeting and punching him right in the nose. 

Nick walked in about ten past 8:00. It was his first official day as partner and everyone gave him a hearty round of applause. It took me a moment to realize what was going on, but I finally put my hands together. Nick raised his hands with a smile, gave a slight turn of his head, and then gave a mocking bow. Everyone laughed, but I couldn’t bring myself to even smile. I swallowed thickly. His eyes landed on me and his smile tightened. I felt my insides churn anxiously. He’d been copied on every single email sent. Every single email I hadn’t responded to.

“Alright, Wright?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Where are we on Baybridge?” he asked. The question was directed to Caleb, but his eyes remained on mind. I lowered my eyes.

“All done, sir,” Caleb answered. “Sent it to you around seven.”

“Good to see someone took initiative.”

“I thought it was better I take it anyway,” Chris added, playing with his pen. “Ellie’s on five moving deals right now. I told Ellie on Friday I was going to take it.”

I turned and shot him a grateful gaze. Caleb was staring at Chris, a hateful glimmer in his slate gray eyes. No doubt he wanted to watch me crash and burn. Chris was there to catch me before I could fall.

“Well, we all need to be in the loop. Ellie, you can’t go three days without responding to an email. That’s completely unacceptable.”

“Yes sir,” I said, giving a tight smile. “It won’t happen again.”

That was the culture. That was how the world worked. No concern about my health or wellbeing. The color of my skin didn’t seem to matter. The circles beneath my eyes. I didn’t answer an email and no matter what may be happening in my personal life, that couldn’t happen. He didn’t even stop to ask. Didn’t seem to have an ounce of concern. 

“Be sure it doesn’t. You want to move up in this company? Well, you don’t do things like that. It’s about hard work and teamwork. Be a team player here. Everyone else gives up weekends, you’re expected to as well.”

I felt blind rage at the injustice of it. I worked the longest hours here. I took on the most work. I had the highest utilization. No one else came near to being 110% utilized. 

I glanced over and met Caleb’s eyes. He took glee in my dressing down. He didn’t seem to care at all about the circles under my eyes or the paleness of my skin. He held my gaze a moment, slate grey eyes cold and critical. 

He looked away back to Nick as Nick explained how the next couple of weeks were going to unfold. New deals we had coming through and a shift in the team. I hardly heard a word of it. It took me a moment to realize that Nick was saying my name. 

“Yes?” I asked. 

“After you close out your current deals, you’ll be taking on Caleb’s remaining deals. You get them to him for review. He’ll supervise. Understand?”

“Wait,” I frowned and leaned forward. “Caleb’s a senior.”

“ _ Yes,”  _ Nick said. He didn’t look impressed. “You’ll be finishing up his deals as a senior. We’ll see how you do. Think you can handle it because right now, I’m not so sure.”

I looked at Caleb. He was staring at me hard. I had trouble reading the look. 

“No, I mean, yes. I can handle it,” I said firmly. 

“Alright then. Caleb will get you set up. Any questions?” 

No one had any. I lingered as everyone got up and began to file out. Caleb did as well. He gave Chris a small nod as Chris headed out the door. Once we were alone, Caleb opened up a folder. 

“These are my call notes. I’ll email everything over to you. The report is due next wednesday EOD. Everyone will have their jobs to you by Friday at COB. You have the week to close up your current deals. All your deadlines are Thursday and Friday so it shouldn’t be a problem. Sound good?” 

I nodded and took his notes. He rose and smiled. “Great. Good luck.” 

He turned and left the room. I stared after him in shock. That was it? Great. Good luck. I collected his call notes and walked back to my office. Panic grew inside of me. My muscles tightened and I felt like I was going to be sick. I actually grabbed my trash can and leaned over it. I wasn’t a senior. I’d been here less than a year. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I considered going to ask Chris. I certainly couldn’t ask Caleb. 

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. My head was throbbing. I somehow managed to get my diligence reports over to Caleb by eleven. He had wanted it by ten, but it was the best I could do. I worked through a fog. I read words over and over and over and remembered nothing. 

I had some research I needed to get done. The words of the statutes blurred. My eyes crossed and then fluttered closed. I sighed and pressed my face into my hands. My brain went blank. I felt myself slip onto the precipice of sleep. 

“Orla?”

I started violently. I looked over at the entrance of my cubicle. My stomach roiled when I saw Caleb standing there. He quirked an eyebrow and then said, “A moment?”

I turned to look at him. I hadn’t even gotten a ping. My lips parted and he walked toward me. His aftershave was overwhelming. I felt like I was going to be sick. I wondered how it might feel, to lean forward and vomit all over his expensive shoes. 

He placed two pieces of paper on my desk. They were the diligence reports from my SourApple deal. One was from the company. One was from the tax return. He flattened the sheets out on the table. Silently, he placed a long, slender finger on the far left column of the paper and then the matching number on the tax return. Only the number didn’t match. I felt my stomach sink into my toes and my lips parted.

“That’s not a mistake you make,” he said coolly. He picked up the pages and turned to leave my cubicle.

“Was it addressed in my report?” I asked him.

“Would I be here if it was?” he asked. He didn’t walk away. He stood there a moment, giving me a long look. “If it’s too much work, say so. I can’t read your mind.”

He turned and left without any further discussion. I buried my face in my hands. I worked hard to collect myself. I sucked in deeply through my nose and let out quivering breaths from my lips. 

My phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was a number I didn’t know. I swiped it right, jabbed my pincode in, and then opened it. I can’t explain what I felt. There aren’t enough words. My mouth went dry. My stomach roiled. Bile rose in my throat. My skin felt very hot and very cold all at once. My skin tingled. It was like I could feel every single cell tickling and twitching on my face. The air left my lungs. I couldn’t breath. I literally forgot how to. My eyes went dry. They hurt. My contacts threatened to tighten up and shrivel where they lay. 

The unknown number sent me a picture. It was a picture of me. It wasn’t obscene. You couldn’t see my face, my breasts, nothing. Nothing but my ribcage and every single black line marking my skin. All damned seven of them. 

I burst into tears, hardly smothering my sob with a hand over my mouth. My shoulders shook and I pressed my hands to my face. I didn’t feel fear right away. It was just that overwhelming rush of shame. I pressed my hands to my mouth. My eyes were screwed shut. My shoulders shook violently but no sound left me. Occasionally, I’d sniffle, I’d fight down the growing sob, and breath in hard. 

After some time, I managed to stop my sobs but I continued to struggle with my breathing.

“Ellie?”

I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard Chris step into my office. The humiliation was too great.  I just couldn’t bear it. Throwing myself in front of a bus was looking more and more tempting as time passed. 

He crouched down by my desk and placed a hand on my back. The muscles of my body retracted and convulsed in a violent flinch. His hand left my back, but then slowly returned. I pressed my hand to my mouth and let out a low, shuddering sob, only concealed by sheer force of will, unwilling to humiliate myself further.

“Ellie,” he murmured softly. “What’s wrong? Is it the workload?”

I squeezed my eyes shut harder and shook my head, face pressing firmly to my palm. I did not trust myself to speak, else I would break down completely.

“If it’s too much work you need to come to me about it. You keep saying you’re available. If you get the work done I’m going to keep giving you more until you tell me you can’t handle it.”

His voice was soft and gentle. I continued to shake my head into my hand. It was horrible. Everyone around me thought I couldn’t hack it. I couldn’t take the work. They’d be making bets on how much longer I could last. I’d be out by the end of March. They had no idea.

“Hey,” he said. “You need to go home.”

“No,” I said, sitting up abruptly and sucking in loudly through my nose. “I have a summary to get out. And the Peterson Calc-”

“I’ll take it. You need to go home.”

“Caleb -”

“I’ll deal with Caleb,” he said shortly. My eyes flickered to his and I nodded. I reached for my box of tissues and pressed a thin piece of paper to my eyes.

“This is embarrassing,” I admitted with a nervous laugh.

“No it isn’t,” Chris said. I glanced at him from behind the tissue and he flashed a toothy grin. I sniffled, wishing I could lean into him and let him hold me tightly until everything was better.

“Here,” he said, standing. He took my hand and helped me out of the chair. “I’ll help pack you up. Run to the bathroom and freshen up.”

I nodded and left the cubicle. I kept my head down as I walked. I looked up just in time to avoid a rather catastrophic collision with Caleb. My eyes widened in surprise and I took a step back. His brow knitted and his lips parted as he looked at me. My cheeks burned and I tried to side step him. 

He reached out a long arm and pressed his fingers to the top of the cubicle wall, halting my escape. The action surprised me. His massive body took up the entirety of the narrow hallway.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was surprisingly low. I said nothing. I did not trust myself to speak. I ducked beneath his arm and hurried into the bathroom. My body brushed against him as I passed. He made no attempts to move, but I could feel him turn and watch me go.

I washed my face in the bathroom and lingered until most of the redness had gone down. One woman came in, gave me a quick glance, and then went on her way. Someone crying in the bathroom wasn’t anything new.

When I left, I heard him in with Mark, meticulously ripping apart his cost basis Calc. I got into my cubicle without further incident and found Chris sitting at my desk, looking at my phone. My heart seized and my throat ached.

“Don’t -”

He looked up and smiled. “Getting you an Uber.”

“Oh, I can take the T -”

“Nonsense. Here,” he said, taking my bag and flinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”

I put my coat on and followed him to the elevator. We waited in silence, and I saw Caleb coming out of Mark’s cubicle. I lowered my eyes to my feet. I prayed he wouldn’t reach us until the elevator doors opened. I hoped against hope. I wasn’t so lucky. He walked over with quick, calculated strides.

“Leaving?” he asked tightly, eyes flickering back and forth between me and Chris.

“I’m just walking her down. I told her to go home.”

Caleb’s cheeks were flushed pink. A vein was bulging in his forehead. It’s the first time I could ever remember seeing him even slightly frazzled.

“That seems like something that the manager approves. Not a senior associate,” his voice was taut.

“Would you have said no?” Chris asked, a slight bite in his own voice. Caleb and Chris started a moment longer. Caleb’s grey eyes suddenly darted over and locked on mine. Somehow, I kept my eyes on his. 

“Probably not,” he said. I struggled to hold his gaze. I hated that he thought he had done this to me, that he had this much power over me. “But it’s my decision to make.”

The doors opened and I retreated into the elevator. Chris held out a hand to keep it from closing. Chris and Caleb stared at each other.

“She’s still my junior,” Chris said. “I’ll make sure the work gets done.”

Caleb’s eyes made their way back to me. I’d pay for this, I thought. Somehow, he’d make me pay for this. I thought of all the work that would be coming my way now. The endless nights. The cruel dressing downs. His brow raised to his hairline and his face warped into a tight, angry grin. “Let’s hope so. Feel better, Orla. See you tomorrow.”

He walked back toward his office. Chris stepped in and the doors closed. I sagged against the wall. I felt like I could barely stand. I whispered, “Fucking asshole,” and brought my hand to my forehead.

Chris chuckled and slapped the lobby button. “He was like that all through law school. He was not well liked in our study group.”

“You and he were in the same study group?” I asked. Chris shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Caleb and I are friends,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “One of my best friends.”

My lips parted in surprise. “Yeah, he’s an asshole, but we knew each other before law school.”

“Really?”

“We went to BC undergrad together. We met shooting hoops in the gym and just, stuck together. He was supposed to come to that party with me on the cape this weekend but he bailed.”

“Oh,” I said dumbly, trying to think of all the bad things I might have said to Chris about Caleb in the past.

“Don’t worry,” Chris smiled. “He really is a fucking asshole.”

“I can handle the work,” I said. It was important to me people knew that. “I just... I had a really bad weekend. I can handle the work.” 

“It happens,” Chris said. “You just have to talk to me or Caleb. Ok,” he laughed at the face I gave. “Talk to me. You’ve taken one day off since you started. Sometimes you need to take some time for yourself. Only way we stay sane.”

I only nodded. I don’t think I could do that. The elevator doors opened and we stepped out.

“Look, about what you heard this morning -”

“It’s really fine,” I answered, a bit too curtly.

“No, it isn’t,” Chris said sharply. “You should feel comfortable at work and that couldn’t have been comfortable for you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not making a report to HR,” I tried to smile.

“I know you wouldn’t but still. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled and he opened the door for me. We stepped out onto the street and I stared out at the buzzing traffic. I didn’t think I could go and sit home alone in my apartment. I closed my eyes.

“You going to be OK?” Chris asked again. “I’m sorry Ellie but Christ you look rough. What happened? Death in the family? We get bereavement leave. Company sucks out our souls but we get that.”

“It’s personal,” I answered, voice trembling.

“Is it Caleb’s promotion? I mean I know a lot of people aren’t thrilled but -”

“It’s not the work,” I snapped. “I can handle the work.”

Chris fell silent. I let out a deep breath. I felt like crying again. I clutched at my coat. I could feel the lines on my ribs. Scorching hot and freezing cold all at once. I pressed my head to my forehead. My phone buzzed. I was too afraid to look at it. 

“This is it,” Chris said, motioning to the car that pulled up. “Just uh, text me when you’re home? So I know you got there alright.”

I fought a grimace. I wasn’t a child. I had been top of my class. I scored a 338 on the bar exam. I worked for one of the biggest financial firms in the world and goddammit, despite what Caleb might say, I was damn good at it.

“I will,” I promised. I got into the car and held my purse in my lap. I offered a tight smile and he closed the door.

“Good day today?” The driver asked happily.

“I don’t want to talk,” I said curtly. He said nothing and headed my request. I pulled out my phone. My heart sank. Another unknown number.

“Are you crying?” the unknown number asked. 

I stared at the phone and then closed my eyes. My eyelids only opened when I felt another buzz. 

“Don’t cry. You’re too beautiful to cry.”

I pressed my hands to my mouth and screwed my eyes shut. I fought hard to keep myself from crying. I blocked the number. Silent tears fell from my eyes and I put my phone in my purse.

I got another buzz as I stepped out of the Uber. I fumbled to get the phone out of my purse. I dropped my keys on the ground. I hunched down to retrieve them and looked at my phone. It was another number. 

“Don’t block me.” 

I climbed up the stairs and opened my email. It was habit. I couldn’t possibly not look at my email, even when home. I saw an unread email from Caleb and my heart stopped beating. I clicked on it. Nick, Chris, Mark, and Molly were copied on it.

“Send all of Orla’s stuff to me. She’ll be out sick today and tomorrow.”

I emailed Caleb back privately. “Caleb, I saw your email. I’ll be in tomorrow. I can work from home today. I brought my laptop. - Ellie.”

I got the response promptly. “Orla, don’t worry about it. Come back with a clear head. I can’t have you making stupid mistakes. - C.H”

My skin burned red at the word stupid. I ground my teeth together and blinked rapidly.

“Are you still crying?”

The new number asked. I did not respond. I blocked it and put my phone down. Another buzz. A third number. 

“Don’t ignore me.”

Another buzz. It was a picture. It was me again. On my bed, outstretched, naked. My legs were spread. My face crumpled. I typed through a haze of tears. 

“I’ll send that to every single person you know.”

Another photo came through. It was a graphic shot. My legs spread. His fingers spread my lips apart. It was soft, pink,  _ wet.  _

“Why are you doing this to me!!!!!” I jabbed out rapidly. I started to cry again. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face downward. 

“Because you belong to me.”

“Do I know you??” I asked. I don’t know why I would ask that. I didn’t actually expect an answer. 

“I know you.”

“Please. Please leave me alone. I’m begging you,” I pleaded.

“Are you still crying?”

_ “ _ No _ ,”  _ I lied. I waited. The messages stopped. I laid down on the futon and closed my eyes to sleep. 

The next two days were a bit of a blur. I laid on the futon. I cried. I don’t remember eating, but I must have had cereal or a sandwich here or there. I didn’t get any more messages. I kept my apartment locked tight. I beat myself up daily. If I’d just locked the door. 

On the morning of the third day, with shaky arms and sore muscles, I groped for my phone. I texted Chris. “I need the week.”

“Got it,” he responded almost immediately. My insides roiled. I should be at the office right now. I checked the clock. It was 6:30am. Caleb would be there. Chris would be there. Another text came through, “you deserve the time. I’ll deal with Caleb. We have this under control.”

I fell back asleep. It’s very possible I abused some of the medication in my cabinet on those first two or three days. All I did was sleep, get up to go to the bathroom, and then come back to the futon. I didn’t bathe. The blankets were still balled up, destroyed with bleach, laying in the shower.

I woke abruptly the next day to a heavy thump at my door. My eyes popped open and I sat up abruptly. I stared at the door, ears straining to hear. My heart thundered violently against my ribcage and my muscles tensed. Though I remember little, by the time I slowly creaked the door open, I had a large kitchen knife in my hand.

A box was on the ground before the door. I looked to my left and right, a frown on my face. The hallway was empty. I brought the box inside. Once the door was shut, I locked the door and threw all the deadbolts. I checked it multiple times.

I examined the box closely. It was sent to me directly from Amazon. I grabbed my phone to check my orders. In my haze, I hadn’t ordered anything. My parents wouldn’t have sent me anything. We’d had a pretty good falling out the last time they had.

I used the knife in my hand to cut through the box. It was a set of sheets, almost identical to the ones I had, and a new quilt. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was very close. I swallowed thickly.

I knew where it came from. I felt the walls close in on me and I lowered my face into my hands. Tears leaked from eyes, hot and wet. It would have been down at the front entrance. A neighbor would have brought it up. 

I did not make my bed right away. I went into the bathroom, plopped a pill between my lips, and then went to fall asleep on the futon. It was dark out when I woke up. 

I usually wash sheets before I put them on my bed, but I had no plans to walk down to the laundry room in the basement. I made the bed and then stood there. I stood in the middle of my small, silent apartment staring at the bed with tired eyes. I brought a hand up and trailed it along my collar bone. 

He had gone over the words with his marker before he left. WHORE. MINE. I could feel them burning, etched deeply into my skin. And the lines. All those lines. I broke down again, crying hard into my pillow. I fell asleep because when I woke up it was light. 

I had a text from Chris. “Hope everything is ok!”

I ignored it. I didn’t have an ounce of motivation in me. I considered going to the police. It was too late to go to the police at this point. I wouldn’t be believed. Who could possibly believe it? That I was held captive for three days in my own apartment.

“Oh what are those lines?” They’d ask me. “Oh, that’s how many times I orgasmed.” I would respond.

I lowered myself down to the futon and watched the TV with heavy eyes. I couldn’t handle the shame of people knowing. I’d  _ orgasmed.  _ How do you explain that?

I got a chime and I felt sick. I saw it was Caleb, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

“I know you’re off but check your email real quick. Need to verify something. Only you have the spreadsheet.”

I grabbed my laptop. His email was the kindest I had ever received from him. It was still curt and cold.

I confirmed the numbers and attached the spreadsheet. I got a beep back immediately. “Thanks, Orla. Rest up.”

His kindness bothered me. I didn’t need his sympathy. I didn’t need him thinking I couldn’t take it. I almost wrote back to tell him I’d be in on Friday. I didn’t have the strength though. Even with my bitter resentment, the thought of getting dressed and going outside, crossing the city and going into that building was too much.

I watched TV, though it wasn’t really watching. I’d sit, my legs curled up under me, shoulders hunched, wearing grey leggings and an oversized t-shirt, staring off with glazed eyes, mind far away. 

I was watching the hockey game on Thursday night when I got another text message. 

“Look how wet your pussy is.”

Another photo came through. His fingers were inside of me. Another. His fingers spreading me apart. 

“Your pussy tastes so good. I want to put my face between your legs and suck on your clit until you’re a wet, writhing puddle.”

I watched the messages come in. I sniffled hard, breath hitching. A video came through. Dread overtook me. It was edited on a loop. 

I saw myself on the bed, hands tied up on the bed frame. My knees were bent, legs spread open. I was breathing, whimpering,  _ moaning.  _ It was only about two seconds long, but it was clear. I was moaning. It replayed and replayed and replayed. I exited out of it and through my phone to the side. It landed face up and I felt the buzz, saw the screen light up. 

“Listen to you. Do you remember how it felt, that tight pussy getting tongue fucked until you were moaning like a little whore?” 

Another buzz. 

“You like getting raped. I’ll rape you again.” 

I buried my face in my hands. 

“That green shirt. I like that shirt on you. What color was your bra today?”

“Black,” I answered. 

“All I wanted to do was rip it right off you. I’d rip right through those buttons and fuck you, blouse torn, squeezing your tits through your black bra.”

My heart was pounding. He worked in my building. He had to. There was no other way he would know what I had been wearing. 

“Send me a picture of your tits.”

My throat constricted. 

“I want your face in it. Smile for me.”

“Please,” I typed. My eyes were red and puffy. “You already have pictures. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Send me a picture of your tits. I want your face in it. Smile for me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Fat, silent tears rolled down my cheeks. 

“I’ll send that video to your boss. I’ll upload it online. Every fucking pervert in the world is going to jack themselves off to you moaning like a whore while you’re being raped. Send me the picture. You have five minutes.”

I peeled off my shirt and took off my bra. I didn’t cry. I think my eyes had run out of tears. I struggled taking the picture. I tried to smile. I couldn’t. Every picture I took, I looked like I was in pain. I didn’t want to anger him. 

Finally, I sent the picture. I smiled as best I could. My breasts were clear. The word WHORE prominent and dark and shameful. 

“That’s perfect. So perfect. Look at you, you look so sad. Don’t worry. Do what I say and no else will see these.”

There was a pause. 

“Squeeze your nipples. Send another picture.” 

I obeyed. I laid back and gently massaged my nipples until they were hard. My lower jaw quivered as I did so. I took another photo and sent it to him. 

There wasn’t a message for a few minutes. I wondered what he was doing with those photos. I deleted them from my phone. I removed them from the text chain. I felt numb inside. I felt so… so filthy. So used so… so… so utterly violated. 

“Do you belong to me?”

“Yes,” I answered. 

“Good girl. Say it.” 

“I belong to you,” I typed. 

“You’re so sweet.” A picture came through. I almost didn’t look at it. It was me on the futon, in my pajamas, my blankets wrapped up around me, sleeping soundly. “Look how innocent you look. I just want to scoop you up and hold you. Say you’re my good girl.”

“I’m your good girl,” I sent the message.

“It’s true. You’re mine.”

“I know,” I said. 

“If I find out you let someone else touch you…” 

There was a pause. 

“Will you let someone else touch you?” 

“No,” I replied. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise, no one else will touch me,” I said. 

“Good girl. Go to sleep. You need your strength. Think of me inside of you. My hands on you.” 

“Ok,” I said. 

“Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

I waited but no other messages came through. I laid down and cried. I grabbed my phone and texted Chris. This had been bothering me for a while now. I needed to know one way or another. I couldn’t find out by showing up to work on Monday. I couldn’t. 

“Am I off the senior deals now?” I asked. He responded immediately. 

“No. Why?”

“Im just thinking I chose a terrible time to take a week off. Lol.” I wanted to be light and airy. I didn’t need Chris to think I was sitting here an absolute mess. 

“I’ll be honest. Nick wasn’t all that happy. But Caleb was pretty firm with him that you should still get the senior deals. I’m finishing up your Thursday/Friday deadlines. You just have to come in and pick up from Caleb on Monday. It’ll be fine.”

“Thats a massive relief. Thanks.” 

“You doing ok?” he asked. “Better?” 

“Much better!” I lied. “Really needed to recharge. Thanks for being so cool about it. Still embarrassed.” 

“No need to be embarrassed. Lol. See you Monday. Try and enjoy your weekend.” 

“You too.” 

I got out of the messages and then looked at messages from the unknown number. I deleted it. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want it on my phone. I put my bra and shirt back on and then crawled underneath the blankets he had bought for me. It felt like he was here again. Like I was wrapped in his arms. Like he was surrounding me. I pressed my face into the pillow and squeezed my eyes. 

_ You belong to me. Ill rape you again.  _ The words ricocheted around my brain.  _ Do what I say and no one else will see these.  _

“Oh God,” I moaned into the pillow. “Oh, God.” 

What the fuck was I going to do? 


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews! I am going to go through some of the old chapters and clean them up a bit. I know there's a lot of minor grammar/spelling issues. I hate proof reading and as a result I'm just terrible at it. So I will commit some time to cleaning that up for people this coming weekend so it's a less jarring read. 
> 
> I hope you guys are all right with last chapter and this chapter. What I want to do with the story, I can't have the identity a complete mystery throughout the entire thing. Hopefully the mystery was fun while it lasted!

Her strength was impressive. Even admirable. Her stubbornness was infuriating. The sight of her walking around the corner had been a shock. Her hair was a tight, messy bun. It was probably the least professional she had ever appeared at work, though it was by no means inappropriate. Other women had dressed in a far less professional manner. Amelia came to mind. Her clothing was fine. Well fitted black slacks and black flats. She was perfect in flats. She was a relatively tall woman, perhaps 5’6 or 5’7. In flats, she was the perfect height. Her shirt was green silk, well tailored, expensive, hiding the letters beneath her skin. Letters only we knew were there. 

Her hair was the problem. It was still wet from the shower I had given her. It had clearly been pulled up on the top of her head using her fingers. She had a noticeable pallor. She had circles under her eyes. I had made a point not to set her alarm. She should be sleeping. She needed her sleep. 

Nick had been harsh. As he spoke at the admin meeting, the faces around the table demonstrated a clear discomfort. She looked terrible. The appropriate course of action would have been to ask the status of Baybridge, speak to her in private and ask if she was unwell, and address the matter in private. I had not expected such a public shaming, one so unwarranted, and I felt a glimmer of remorse. Then her eyes flashed to mine, big, wet, so beautifully vulnerable, that the same violent rush of passion I had felt coursing through my blood that past eight months. 

It had been foolish to think a weekend would satiate me. The very sight of her left my body tingling with need. Images course through my mind as I stared at her. The feel of her body, the touch of her lips, the soft mewls, the whimpers, the scent of her, the taste. The need was stronger now than it had been when I made the decision to spike her drink. It had all come to a head, watching her stare into her beer forlornly. One night wasn’t enough. I needed to feel her move, hear her sounds. A full weekend, how I wanted, when I wanted… I thought it would be enough. Now I needed to see her eyes. I needed her to look up at me while I fucked her. I needed her to know it was  _ me.  _

I had a sudden movie play in my head. Walking into her cubicle and ordering her to her feet. Ripping her blouse open and throwing her down on her desk. Groping at her breasts through her bra. What color was her bra, I wondered. I imagined fear in her eyes. Fear of my anger, my strength, my disapproval. I’d hold her down with my hand around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to let her know who was in control, who had the power. 

She didn’t last the day. I hadn’t expected her to. Not after I send that picture. As I reviewed her report in the morning, I waited for her to come to my office, trembling, teary eyed, asking me with fearful hope that I would approve the day off. I would rise from my desk and approach her, shutting my door behind her and giving her the privacy Nick should have given her. 

I had a flash of slapping her across the face. Her wet tearful gaze turned toward mine, eyes twinkling with fear and vulnerability. I brushed that off. I would put my hand on her shoulder and pull her close. I could already smell her. I would get as close as I could to her, and I would ask if she was alright. 

She might break down and fall into my arms. I’d wrap my arms around her and tell her I would take care of everything. She need only rely on me. She was stronger than that though. More stubborn. She would look up at me with those big eyes, jaw trembling, give a brave nod and leave. 

I didn’t get the satisfaction. It was robbed from me. It was a frightful rage. I hadn’t been that angry in a long time. It was directed at her and it was directed at him. Her big green eyes looking up at me in surprise, wet and scared. I sat at my desk staring at my screen. I hardly lasted five minutes before I grabbed my phone. Would he see her home? My fingers tingled. He came back out of the elevator and walked back to his cubicle. He didn’t so much as look at me as he returned to his desk. 

So she was sitting alone in an uber crying, when she could be standing in my office, soft little body pressed up vulnerably against mine, my arms wrapped security around her shaking shoulders. 

I pulled up the texting app on my phone.

_ Are you crying?  _

I needed to know. I would do no work if I thought she was alone and crying. 

_ Don’t cry. You’re too beautiful to cry.  _

I waited maybe ten minutes before I tried sending the other message. The little red exclamation point that jumped out at me beside my message of comfort. I felt a violent flare of anger. My eyes fluttered. I generated a new number. 

_ Don’t block me.  _

I waited and then leaned forward. I jabbed at my keyboard and sent the email. Another white hot flood of rage filled me when she responded to my email. I looked at my phone. I answered her email quickly and picked my phone back up. 

_ Are you still crying?  _

I gave her five minutes. 

_ You’re too beautiful to cry.  _

Another exclamation point. I felt the vein pulsing in my forehead. I generated a third number. I typed with rapid, violent jabs. 

_ Don’t ignore me.  _

I gave her five minutes before I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my photos. I felt the blood rush between my legs as I went through them. I stopped on an image of her on the bed, exactly where she should be. Naked, legs spread, tied to the bed and ready for a good fucking. That arrogant, haughty little whore thought she could ignore me. I sent the imagine along with the words,  _ I’ll send that to every single person you know.  _

I found another picture. I strained against my trousers. She had a perfect pussy. Tight, wet and pink. My mouth watered. She’d tasted so good. Another flash, her vulnerable body tied to the bed, legs spread, knees bent. I’d licked the length of her. Sucking her clit between my lips. The ever growing dampness beneath my tongue. I sent her the picture. Her pussy spread between my fingers, slick with every ounce of evidence that she was nothing but a dirty little whore. 

_ Why are you doing this to me!!!!!  _

I almost groaned. I was rock hard. I had so much work to do. I had no idea how on Earth I was going to manage to do it. 

_ Because you belong to me.  _ I wanted her to know it was me. I wanted her to look up at  _ me _ . I wanted to hear it; that she knew she belonged to me, that she knew she was my whore. 

_ Do I know you??  _

A small smile lifted my lips. She was too smart to think I’d actually answer that. 

_ I know you.  _

_ Please. Please me alone. I’m begging you.  _

I liked to hear her beg. I wanted to hear more of it. Instead, I asked again,  _ are you still crying?  _

I got back a single ‘No.’ It’s impossible to know if that was true. I pulled up my new amazon account with my fake information and the giftcard. The new blankets and sheets would be delivered tomorrow. I would have liked to know she was at home curled up in the bed I fucked her in, comfortably wrapped in blankets. She would make herself comfortable on her little futon though. 

“Trent.” 

I glanced up in surprise as Nick came into my office. “The diligence reports will be out soon. I need to finish reviewing them.” 

They were hers. I had to review it top to bottom. That she managed to throw something as coherent as this together was impressive in and of itself, but I couldn’t sign my name to it and send it off as is. 

Nick was red faced and crossed his arms defiantly across his chest. I watched Chris leave his cubicle and come to my office. Nick no doubt summoned him. Chris stepped in and shut the door. 

“I put her on senior deals and she  _ leaves _ ?” Nick blustered. “After what she pulled this weekend?” 

“I told her to go home,” Chris said. “She was a mess.” 

“I knew this was a bad idea, making her a senior after eight months. It’s too much too fast. We give it to Peter. She goes back to junior.” 

“She’s the best for it,” I said, leaning back and crossing my own arms. “You’ve seen her work. She’s years ahead of where she should be.”

“Which is why I don’t want to waste her. If she can’t handle the stress, we move her back.”

“It’s not the work,” I said dryly. 

“Something happened,” Chris mused. “Ellie doesn’t just not answer emails. She’s answered emails at 11:00pm on a Saturday.” 

“She did look rough,” Nick said with a sliver of sympathy. “Has she contacted the therapist?” 

I always wanted to laugh when that came up. The company had a therapist on call. Our insurance covered up to six visits a year. That’s how bad it could be. 

“I don’t think we’re allowed to get that information,” I answered dryly. Nick let out a deep sigh. 

“Can’t just not answer emails,” he said, still clearly quite angry. 

“It’s not like her,” I said. “She’ll be out at least today and tomorrow. If she asks for the week, I’ll approve it.” 

Nick’s head looked like he was about to explode. 

“Chris and I are splitting her jobs. We’ll get the Thursday/Friday deadlines out. She’ll take over my deals next week. That was the plan anyway.” 

“This is on you, Trent. If she fucks this up…”

“She won’t,” I said. I knew she wouldn’t. 

“Gets put on senior deals and goes home. She’s looking at a ten thousand dollar raise,” he shook his head. “Keep it together you two.” 

He opened the door and stormed back to the elevators. Chris lingered, standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He continued to stare at me until my anger flared. I asked sharply, “Yes?” 

“This affects her career,” Chris said. 

“I’m handling it,” I answered curtly. He looked as though he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and then left. I glared after him before checking my phone. No messages. I got up, mindful of the strain between my legs. I made sure the blinds were pulled and shut my door. I locked it, checked it twice, and then sat back down behind my desk. I pressed my hands to the front of my trousers and flipped through my phone. I found the picture of her lying on the futon just before I left. She looked so innocent, so sweet, so vulnerable. 

Those sweet green eyes. How they would look, wet and frightened, looking up at me. Every time she tossed one of her snarky little comments my way, I imagined the same thing; a hand to her throat, a curt slap to the cheek, a finger to her face. 

I plucked at my belt buckle and leaned backward. 

She would look up at me and apologize. She’d pull her bottom lip between her teeth. Shy and remorseful. 

He pushed my hand into my pants and took hold of my pulsing erection. I slipped my other hand into my pocket. 

I thought last weekend would put her in her place. I thought I’d feel the satisfaction I had been longing for for months. I wanted her so badly. I wanted to rape her again but it wasn’t enough. 

I wanted to rape her and I wanted her to  _ know _ . I pictured her again, that sweet little girl curled up on the couch, bent over my desk, arms bent at her lower back, my hands wrapped tightly around her wrists, blouse torn, skirt bunched around her hips, crying with every powerful thrust into her. 

I slipped the panties I’d taken out of my pocket and lifted it to my face. I breathed in deeply. 

And when I was done fucking her, I’d let her fall to the ground at my feet, crying, overrun with shame. I’d sit back on my chair and let her cry there as I readjusted my trousers. And then I’d lean down and collect her face in my hands. 

“That’s my good little slut,” I’d murmur lovingly and place a soft kiss to her lips. Her tears would be salty. Her mouth would quiver. “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, Caleb,” she would whisper. “I belong to you.” 


	10. 10

I got into work around five that Monday. I was the first one there, but I usually was. The night security guard let me in the front doors. My ID badge let me in the rest of the building without need for help.

“Good Morning, Ellie. Enjoy your weekend?” he asked me with a smile.

“You know it,” I answered and handed him the small black coffee I always got him. “Yours?”

“Same as always.”

“How’d Charlie do at the science fair?” I asked as I pressed the elevator buttons. It was pretty sure it had been on Thursday. He was so excited for it. 

“Third Place!” He grinned proudly. He was beyond proud of his son.

“That’s fantastic!” I said happily, stepping in passed the opening doors. “Tell him I said congrats.”

“Of course. Thanks for the coffee,” he said holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you work too hard now.”

I flashed him a sideways smile and let the doors shut. Once closed I leaned back against the elevator wall and let out a sigh. I’d managed to sleep last night with the help of an extra Xanax. I didn’t get any more messages from him, but every time my phone went off, a violent rush of terror coursed through my limbs.

The doors opened and I was hit with that same sterile smell. I had finally got the sheets and blankets out of my shower. I’d hauled them down to the basement to toss in the dumpsters, all the while waiting for someone to jump out at me. It had been a miserable few minutes. The new sheets were better quality, my new quilt more expensive. He hadn’t skimped on value. 

I dropped off my belongings and then made coffee. I checked my emails from the break room. I’d fill up my cup three times before finally returning to my desk with my fourth cup. Caleb and Chris got my deadlines through. Caleb sent his last email at 10:57 on Friday night. I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

I dreaded the day. I couldn’t fathom facing everyone. I was humiliated that I broke down like that in front of Chris, I was beyond angry that Caleb might think he had done that to me. I couldn’t stand giving him that level of satisfaction.

The team would think I was ridiculous. No doubt rumors had already spread across the company that another associate had a mental breakdown. I wondered darkly how many bets I was going to destroy by showing back up to work today.

Caleb walked into the break room around 5:46. I had responded to a number of his emails already. It was impossible to say if he had already read them in his office before coming down for coffee or if he had just shown up. I didn’t look up from my computer. We very rarely spoke outside of deal work. We’d been in the break room together before and never said a word.

I looked up in surprise when I felt him approach. Silently, he topped my coffee mug off before he dumped the rest into his mug and set about making a fresh pot.

“Have a good vacation?” He finally rumbled, stirring his spoonful of sugar into his black coffee. I shot him a hateful gaze. I hadn’t expected him to be leaning against the counter looking at me. The gaze should have been greeted by his back, not his piercing grey eyes and deadpan expression.

“It was fantastic,” I responded. I looked back at my emails. I realized being cold might cement any thought he had that he had managed to put me in that state, so I lifted my face, smiled, and asked “did you have a nice weekend?” 

“It was fine,” he answered. He added unnecessarily, “Worked most of it.”

I bit the inside of my lip. If he thought I was going to thank him he was wrong.

“Did you receive the reports from everyone for Project Plymouth?”

I nodded and looked back at my email.

“EOD Wednesday, Orla,” he said. “Very important it’s done by then.”

“It will be,” I snapped. I had no idea how. I had no idea how to do it. Caleb wouldn’t offer help and it should have come from him. I couldn’t bare speaking to Chris after the scene he had witnessed a week ago. I would figure it out. I always did. 

“Very confident.” 

I tasted blood as I bit down on the inside of my lip. I know that’s said a lot in books I’ve read, but I don’t think people really understand how hard you actually have to bite to draw blood. I released my aching inner lip and ran my tongue along the pulpy flesh. He was taunting me. He walked past me and took a sip of his coffee. As he left he drawled, “good luck.”

I didn’t finish my coffee. I went to the sink and dumped it out. I didn’t even refill it with the fresh pot Caleb had put on before I left. I carried my laptop back to my desk. I made a point not to look into his office and I ducked quickly passed Chris’ office. I couldn’t handle seeing his big eyes full of concern, asking softly, “you sure you ok?” I just wanted to be left alone to do my work.

I worked until about eleven until my bladder was about to burst. No one had bothered me. I received no check-ins from Chris, no text messages from my tormentor. I didn’t want to get up. I was scheduled for a call with one of the targets at noon. That would take a couple of hours. Theoretically, I could stay in my cubicle until everyone had left for the day. I left my lunch on my desk so I wouldn’t have to go down to the break room.

My heart pounded and I closed. I dreaded the feel of eyes. I knew he was in the building. We shared a break room. Other than that, I had no idea. No one on SALT M&A. I knew that. Compliance? Federal? Consulting? Auditing? Or were they even from the company? We shared the break room with H&R Block... a few others. I tried to think. My brain raced. Who could have seen me without my coat on?

Finally the discomfort got to be too much. I got up from my desk and walked down the row toward Caleb’s office. I was wearing black slacks and a high necked pink blouse. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to wear any of my skirts. The thought that he might be able to see my legs...

Caleb was on the phone, leaning back and rocking in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. His eyes flickered up to me as I walked past him. I tried to smile. Who knows what my face warped itself into.

I hurried back to my office and sagged down in my chair. I didn’t run into anyone and retreated back into safety.

The call was as expected. It was the first meeting with Caleb as manager. As he spoke with the target agents, I felt the growing sense of frustration and anger bubble up inside of me. It was about a half hour in before I realized he was going to be really really good at this. When he wasn’t being cruel to those around him, he was undeniably charming. The agents were happy, laughing, providing information freely and without even realizing what they were saying.

I took notes rapidly. I looked up sharply when I got my ping. I pulled it up. It was from Caleb.

“ - financial disclosure value from 2019?”

The question wasn’t clear but I knew exactly what he was looking for. He could only be bringing the conversation in one direction. I found it and answered in seconds.

“You said you had had less than 5% of sales in California?” 

I double checked the information room to make sure my report had been correct. It had been. 

“We have it here that you sold about 56,378 units for 2020. That’s around 78% isn’t it?” That’s exactly what it was. The target began to sputter. Once all was said and done, we had a promise to receive all of their audits from the past ten years.

I had my notes up and out within the hour and then took the time to eat my sandwich at my desk. I sipped at my soda conservatively. I didn’t want to have to go to the bathroom again. When I did it was around 4:00p.m.

It was the first time I saw Chris that day. He was sitting in Caleb’s office. They were both smiling as they chatted. Caleb laughed and his eyes moved up to meet mine again. Nick never looked up when he worked there. It was just another element of torture added to my worklife. Chris turned his head and gave me a smile and a wave. I nodded and pushed on.

I’d seen them interact like that before. I’d just assumed it was a friendly conversation between colleagues. Now I saw it for what it was. They were close friends. It was actually upsetting to realize. I had trouble reconciling the kind, thoughtful, even tempered Chris with the cold, cruel, and callous Caleb. It didn’t make me think more of Caleb. It made me think less of Chris. I hated it.

As I returned, Chris came out of Caleb’s office to meet me.

“Nice work on the phone call,” Chris said as we walked down the row toward our cubicles. He paused at his cube and I waited to chat with him.

“What do you mean?” I asked, brow knitting.

“With the financial disclosure. Don’t know how you found that so fast.”

“I just remembered it,” I said. I glanced into Caleb’s office. He must have said something. God forbid he would say something positive directly to me.

I considered asking him for help on my report due on Wednesday but stopped. I was a bit horrified I hadn’t even started it yet. I couldn’t let him know that.

I got back to my desk and decided to look at the reports I had received from the team. I’d done all the reports before in the past. I spent a couple hours fixing Mark’s cost basis Calc. Peter was still in his cubicle. Everyone else was gone.

Tuesday went much the same way. It was around five in the evening when I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and had absolutely no hope to. I pulled up my email and my calendar. I had an email drafted to Chris asking for some of his time tomorrow morning before I realized he was on vacation for the rest of the week.

I think I would have cried if I hadn’t spent the last couple weeks crying. I sagged into my chair, utterly defeated. I worked what might be considered a report. I worked until about 9:00 p.m. I got an Uber home. I didn’t want to take the T home alone.

Around eleven the next morning I knew I was in trouble. Chris was gone. Peter wasn’t a senior. No one else would be able to help me outside of Caleb or Nick. Nick had said nothing to me since I got back. He was clearly still not happy with me and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him I was on the verge of blowing the biggest opportunity I had received in my short career. 

I finished up some of my other work. Research I’d been given to do for a partner from the New York office. Some calcs for my remaining deals with Chris. It was six when I pushed myself up from my chair. I didn’t want to lose this job. I loved this job. I hated it, but I loved it, and I was good at it. I wouldn’t let my fear of embarrassment take it from me. I wouldn’t let Caleb take it from me. Even if I’d already lost it, I had to do what i could to salvage the mess I’d put myself in 

I walked down the long narrow hallway of cubicle walls toward Caleb’s office. He was standing behind his desk and looking at his phone. He tossed it on his desk, retrieved his coat from the back of his chair and put it on over his shoulders. He was about to go home. I could only pray he’d give me  _ something  _ to go on. My hands trembled as I stepped into his doorway. He adjusted the collar of his coat. He looked at me, brow lifted a fraction or so, and waited.

I fought down the nausea, the terror, the shame, and I rushed out, “I’m in trouble.” 

It was all I could think to say. He stared a couple seconds longer, comprehending. 

“Alright,” he said. For a horrifying second I thought he was going to tell me that it wasn’t his problem. Instead he pinned me with a hard stare and said his trademark, “what’s up?”

“I’m going to blow the deadline.”

He paused a moment, staring. Slowly, a small little smile crept across his face. My stomach plummeted. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. He only said, the small smile still on his face, his voice deathly neutral, “Ok.”

I knew it would be fruitless. My career was about to come to a screeching halt. The only person I had to blame it on was myself. The only person who could stop it, was going to take great joy in my downfall. But I had to do what all I could, even if it would come to nothing, and even if it meant my pride would take a beating. 

“I need help.” 

He looked back to me. He considered his options. Slowly his eyes dropped to his desk. He began nodding slowly. He pulled the coat off his shoulders and draped it back along his chair.

“Ok,” he said. “Get your laptop.”

Relief flooded through me but I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet. He had no idea just how bad the situation was. I didn’t even know if he could fix the mess I was if he wanted to. I hurried back and grabbed my laptop and reports. When I got back into his office, he was dragging a chair over to his desk for me to sit on.

“How much do you have written?” he asked. I swallowed thickly. He sat down at his desk and woke his computer back up. I said nothing. He looked up when he was met with nothing but silence. He said again, a bit more sharply, “How much do you have written?” 

I took a deep breath before answering. “None of it.”

He said nothing. He stared at his computer and slowly shook his head. He looked less than pleased. His computer began to boot up. He pushed himself up from his chair. He forced a tight smile across his face. Fury pulsed in his grey eyes. “I’m going to go put on some coffee. I hope you’re ready for a long night.” 

He stopped right in front of me. He looked at me, like he was trying to figure me out. He shook his head in exasperation and then stepped out of his office and walked down toward the break room. 

I settled in the chair he had brought over for me. I went through the excel sheets I made up from the reports I received. I chewed on the pulpy shredded flesh of my bottom lip as I waited for him to return. He came back with two hot cups of coffee. I thanked him and took a sip. The coffee was delicious. Exactly what I needed. 

“Chris didn’t help you at all?” he asked as he sat down. 

“I didn’t want to bother him after the help last week,” I answered.

“But fuck me right,” Caleb said dryly. I blinked. I hadn’t meant it like that. 

“I didn’t -”

“ - Send me the calcs,” he said sharply. “Email me what you have.” 

I emailed everything over to him. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. It never occurred to me that Caleb had picked up just as much of my slack as Chris, though I should have. Honestly, I meant it was why I waited this long, not why I had come to  _ him.  _ I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. If Chris was still here, I would have gone to him. Caleb was the only one left.

“What I generally do - come closer -“ he grabbed my chair and pulled it, with me in, toward him with remarkable ease. The move frightened me and our shoulders bumped together as I sagged toward him. I quickly shied away. Touching him sent a rush of anxiety through me and worked on my already frayed nerves. I got a whiff of his aftershave and cologne. It wasn’t a bad smell, but it had a physiological effect on me. I didn’t want to be this close to him. I didn’t want to be that close to  _ anyone,  _ but certainly not him. 

“There’s no actual template, but I got mine from Nick when I started. Always, always, always, address reach first. What states are excluded, which are certainties, and which ones are risk and what risk level. In that order too. It’s the clearest way to lay it out. So, what do we have on state research?”

I pulled up the spreadsheet I had put together using Mark’s research. I turned it toward him to review. My throat was too dry to speak. He gave it a once over and then nodded. He plugged the information into his template, transferring what I said almost word for word. It took him about 30 minutes. I watched in silence.

“So we have that outlined. Now flesh out the exposed states and potential risk. Do risk first. It’ll take the most time, but it’s a good hurdle to get through. Where do we have unknown exposure.”

I selected the next page of my spreadsheet. He reached over and knocked my hand out of the way. I yanked my hand back to give him room. He dragged his finger along my touchpad and went through my excel sheet. He went through each page of my excel sheet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. 

“You’ve done the report.” He had a manner of speaking that made him sound very detached, very uninterested in what he was doing. “You just don’t know how to put it together.”

He downloaded the file to his computer and opened it up. 

“Have these been verified?” he asked. “If Peter did it, we need to verify. He’s sloppy.”

“I didn’t,” I admitted. He spent the next forty five minutes reviewing the relevant statute. I felt my annoyance flare as he checked every single one. Slow and agonizing. He rewrote some of my sentences but overall didn’t make many changes.Overall, it was a colossal waste of time. 

A couple hours had passed by the time the exposure risk was completed. We sat in silence and it was honestly one of the most painful stretches of time in my life. I jumped violently when there was a knock on the door. It was the night guard. He came in with a cup of coffee from dunkins.

“Would have brought two if I knew you were here, Ellie!” he smiled. “Late ever for you.”

“Hey, Eddie,” I smiled. “If I knew you’d buy I wouldn’t be bringing you coffee every morning.”

He laughed. Caleb glanced at me and then looked at Eddie. He took the coffee from him.

“I’ll have a coffee for you tomorrow morning,” Eddie promised.

“No, no,” I said, smiling sleepily. “You’ll get your coffee.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Caleb finally said. “We’ll split it.”

Eddie gave a wave and left.

“Real nice guy,” Caleb said dryly.

“You’re getting the better deal,” I tried to joke. He took the large hot coffee and removed the lid. He split it between our two cups.

He tapped his screen. “Why didn’t you catch this?”

Caleb tapped on his monitor.

“I...” I followed his finger. I found it immediately. An entire section of Peter’s internal summary I had relied on was bad law. A repealed tax statute from Texas. “I just...”

“That’s lazy, Orla,” he said, jabbing at the keyboard. “You’re better than that.” 

“I didn’t do that research,” I snapped. 

“And you didn’t independently verify it. You’re doing senior work. You need to put in senior effort.” 

“I put in more effort than half the people here,” I said again. My cheeks were flushed. It was more than that. I put in more effort than everyone,  _ everyone.  _

“You need to double check all of it. Mistakes happen. That’s why we have so many eyes on everything. But if you’re the senior on the deal, you need to find that.”

I only nodded and said shortly, “ok.” I chewed on the inside of my lip. 

He sighed, found the updated statute and entered it into the report. Once we finished all unknown risk states, completing the rest was relatively easy.

“So, the report is basically fleshed out. How many states have a Calc?”

“Thirteen,” I said. “They’re right here.” I tapped the page at the bottom of the spreadsheet on his second monitor. He pulled it up and reviewed the calculations.

“Insert them at the bottom of the state. Preceding them, make sure you explain the process of the Calc. This is a report that a client will end up seeing, so we want to make sure they understand, but you don’t need to dumb it down too much. It’s mostly for Nick and my benefit, but always keep in mind it might be handed off to a client.”

“Ok,” I said.

“I generally use the same stock language. Just some tweaks,” he said. “See this here? Nick hates that. Take it out.”

He deleted an entire part of my report.

I protested, “but then my final assessment won’t make sense.”

He moved to the bottom and pasted it there. He hadn’t deleted it. He’d just cut it.

“Nick likes it here. I get why you did this but Nick will send it back. So if you get it to me like this, I’ll have to move it, so when you're preparing reports for me, you need to do it like this. Ok?”

“Yeah,” I answered. I didn’t like it. It didn’t make sense to me, but I’d do it.

I watched him go through it one last time.

“Knick of time,” he said with almost no emotion. I glanced at the clock as he saved the final document. It was ten to midnight.

He emailed the finished report to me. “Send it out.”

“But you already have it,” I said, though I was pulling it up anyway.

“Nick wants to make sure you get it to me by midnight and it’ll be better if it comes from you anyway. If I email it to him it’ll look like I did it and you’re still in his line of fire. Send it to me and CC Nick.”

“You did do it though,” I mumbled but did as he said. He reached out and draped his arm along the back of my chair. I felt his arm touch my back.

“You did most of the work. I just plugged it in,” Caleb said. It sounded oddly like a compliment. “I’m sending it back to you tomorrow by the way. We need to review this top to bottom before it gets the final ok from me. You need to verify  _ everything. _ ” 

“That just seems like a big waste of time,” I murmured. “It’s already done.”

“You’ve got some serious weaknesses, Orla but laziness isn’t one of them. Not everyone is as thorough as you out the gate.”

My cheeks burned brightly at the backhanded compliment. I was processing it when he opened the email on his end. I watched him hit reply. He typed out. “Orla, Great work..” He typed out. I actually let out a little laugh. A tiny little smirk came to his face as he finished typing and gave me a sideways look. “Final review tomorrow due by COB. - C.H.” He sent it to me and CC’d Nick. 

“Alright then,” he said, shutting down his laptop. “Time to go home.”

“If it needs to be done over again, should we have sent it to Nick?” I asked. A whole new sense of anxiety began crashing over me. I looked to Caleb. He was on his feet and reaching for his coat. 

“He won’t sign it and send it out until he reads it through and shreds it up a few times. He won’t do that until I send it to him with my edits. He’ll look at it, but nothing will be done. He’s evaluating you for my senior spot. It’s a damn good first report, let me tell you that. You’ll be back in his good graces.”

Thanks to you, I would have said if he was anyone other than Caleb. If he had just offered help to begin with…

“Go get your things.” 

I left and collected my things from my cubicle. I lingered for five or so minutes, hoping to step into the hallway and find the lights off in his office and him gone, but I wasn’t so lucky. He was throwing on his coat. I wasn’t sure if I should go straight to the elevator or wait for him. We weren’t friends. We’d never actually been alone together unless he was in my office destroying my report. But I knew at least I needed to say thank you.

I came to stand in the doorway. He pulled a stick of gum from his pack and extended it out to me. I felt nauseous as I saw the green packaging and shook my head. He placed a stick of gum between his lips. 

“Thank you,” I said somewhat weakly. I added, “Seriously. For all the help.”

“You know, that’s really all it takes,” he drawled as he sling his bag over his shoulder. His voice dripped with condescension. Never had I met a more arrogant man. He adjusted his heavy coat. I waited, unsure what he meant. “ _ ‘Why _ ?’” He said as if speaking to a child. “ _ ‘How _ ?’ It’s ok to admit you don’t know it all.”

“I don’t pretend to know it all,” I snapped. He gave me a hard look.

“Then why are you the only person that doesn’t ask how to do something when you clearly don’t know how to do it?”

“I - I do ask -“ I stammered. He walked toward me. I backed out of his office. He kept advancing.

“Of all the times I sent a report back, do you know how many times you’ve asked me what you needed to fix?” He lifted his eyebrows. When I did not answer, he raised a single finger to hover in front of his face.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me what needed to be fixed?” I countered. He flicked the lights off in his office and walked out. He left the door open.

“I tried,” he answered. “Early on. You weren’t very receptive.”

“No, you didn’t,” I shot back.

“I went into your office with your report Orla, and tried to talk to you about the errors. Your exact words were, “‘I got it. I know that.’  _ Ripped  _ it out of my hands and went to work. So I tell you what needs to be fixed after it becomes very clear you’re not willing to admit a very simple thing. ‘I. don’t. know.’”

My cheeks flushed red. My face felt hot. He laughed, grey eyes twinkling. He passed me on his way to the elevators. I followed dumbly. 

“I make personal calls to others people’s desks when they fuck up royally. You don’t make huge fuck ups. You don’t repeat mistakes. That’s why you’re doing senior deals. I make personal calls to your desk because you make stupid, unnecessary mistakes, because you’re so stubborn you sit there and try and fix it on your own.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “I work fine with Chris.”

“Chris treats you like a child,” Caleb said, slapping the elevator button. He looked at me earnestly.. “You get that right? I treat you like I treat everyone else.”

He pointed along the rows of empty cubicles.

“You’re brilliant and so I hold you to a certain standard. Chris treats you like your fucking twelve.” 

I don’t think I had ever heard him swear before. His ears were red. The doors opened and I followed him inside.

“You think I’m brilliant?” I asked, a bit dumbfounded. There was something in my voice that made it sound very very small. I hated myself for it.

“Is that what you just took from that conversation?” he asked. There was contempt in his voice. “You know you are. You’re just not a team player.”

“I take work that’s not mine all the time!” I replied back sharply. I nearly shouted it at him. My face flushed in embarrassment. How childish that must have looked.

A tiny little smirk slowly already across his face. His eyes raked down the length of me in a way that viciously attacked my self-esteem and I felt immediately self-conscious. It was cold, calculated contempt. He might think I was intelligent, but he made me feel like a bug. I fought to keep my jaw from trembling. I couldn’t understand why this man could be just so  _ cruel.  _

“You can’t admit when you’re wrong,” he said matter of factly. He stepped close to me. I took a step back until I was backed against the elevator wall. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged me. I had to Crane my neck to look up at him. The man was massive. I wracked my brain. I tried to think of an example to shove on his face but I couldn’t. I stared up at him. I refused to look down. I thought back to my interactions with him. He couldn’t put this on me. I wasn’t the problem here.

“You’re wrong,” I answered. A dark smile spread across his face. I realized suddenly, in a way I hadn’t really understood it in the past, he really just didn’t like me.

“See, you can’t even do it now.”

The doors opened and he stepped away from. It wasn’t until then that I realized how close he had been standing. We gave a nod Eddie as we left. Caleb reached out a long arm and held the door open for me. I brushed past him. I smelled wintergreen and my stomach turned. Then I was met with a whiff of his cologne and I tossed the thought aside. It was too ridiculous to really even consider. I didn’t think any more of it. 

“I’m not stupid,” I finally said. His silence was driving me insane. “And I hate being treated like I am.”

“Then you should save your attitude for Chris. Not me.”

I turned to look at him. My ears were buzzing. He placed his hand on my shoulder and ushered me out of the way and down toward the T stop. My face flushed once again in embarrassment. I’d been standing right in the doorway, preventing him from moving. I certainly wasn’t doing anything to improve his opinion of me.

That right there was my problem. I didn’t like Caleb. I hated him. But a not so small part of me really, really, really needed him to like me. I wanted him to approve of me. I was so tired of him making me feel so small.

“I don’t have an attitude,” I mumbled, feeling a bit defeated. I’d had a great opportunity tonight to turn the tide of our work relationship. I’d failed. I was stuck in this limbo between thinking it was his fault and knowing it was mine. I wasn’t going to look down and whimper and admit he was right. But that just proved he was right. It had to have been the stress of the week, but I was on the verge of tears.

We waited silently at the intersection. He looked side to side and then said “come on.”

He stepped off the curb into the street. I glanced at the red glowing hand anxiously.

He glanced back when he realized I wasn’t with him. He reached out and grabbed me by the arm. “Orla. Come on.”

I tugged me along and I stepped off the curb. 

“I hate jaywalking,” I muttered. He released me once we were on the other side of the street. He opened the door for me and pushed me inside with a hand to my back. We walked together toward the terminals. I had a sinking feeling. I didn’t want to ride the T with him. I prayed,  _ prayed,  _ he would take the blue line toward the other end of the city. I didn’t think I could possibly keep a conversation going with him for another 40 minutes. If he wasn’t berating me, we simply weren’t having a conversation.

He slapped his Charlie card down on the reader and put his hand on my back. He ushered me through the opened terminal before I could register what was happening. He slapped it down again and stepped through.

“I have a monthly pass,” I said. He stared at me blankly, but said nothing. He walked passed me toward the stairs that lead toward the different lines. I followed him to the right and I closed my eyes briefly on the stairs. Oh god, I couldn’t hold a conversation with him for an entire T ride. He could be heading to the red or orange line. It didn’t mean he would be on the green line the entire trip. 

“You and Chris have different management styles,” I said after about five minutes of waiting for the train in silence. He had been scrolling through his phone. I had been replaying his words over and over again in my brain and I felt the sudden need to defend Chris. “I don’t think he thinks I’m stupid.”

Caleb gave me a look that suggested he didn’t believe that for one second. A little needling of doubt came into my brain. Chris and Caleb were friends. Did Caleb know something that I didn’t know? Has Chris talked about me? The thought that Chris had made fun of me behind my back left me feeling deflated. It was beyond that though. It had to have been the week, those terrible text messages, the time of night, Caleb’s assessment of me, but I was very close to crying.

“He might not think you’re stupid but that’s how he treats you. Keep an eye out for it. You’ll see it,” Caleb said.

The train came whizzing by. Silently, we joined the other two people stepping up into the empty train. I took a seat on the far end of the train. It was a single seat. I took it so he would have to sit across from me. He chose to stand, hand on the bar, standing far too close, looming down ominously.

“You know, I think this is the longest conversation you and I have ever had.” His voice was almost light, almost friendly.

“If you don’t count admin meetings,” I agreed.

“You don’t talk at admin meetings,” he added.

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” a little smile played on his lips. 

My voice sounded tired. I felt very small. “I like being left alone.”

“So I’m guessing you’re not coming next weekend?”

I frowned at him. His eyebrows lifted. “Happy hour? Not this Friday but next. We’re going to a couple bars on the seaport,” he clarified. “I sent out the invite earlier today. Everyone but you and Molly are going. Molly obviously said no. Doesn’t want to leave the little one that long. You’re the only one left to respond.”

“I didn’t even see it,” I said. I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Oh god, I haven’t checked my emails again.”

I scrambled for my phone. He held out a hand and halted me.

“Nothing came through for you,” he said. “Nothing pressing.”

I sagged back in my chair. I said softly, “I’m so tired.”

“It’ll be a good way to blow off steam. You should come. You need a break.”

“I’ve had a whole week,” Remember, I wanted to add, my  _ vacation _ . I gave a painful laugh. He said nothing. He only stared down with twinkling eyes. I asked, “Who’s going?” 

“Everyone. Chris, Peter, Mark, Ryan, Jason, like I said, Molly isn’t going, Chloe and Anna, I think Amelia and Brittany, probably David. Maybe a couple others. And of course… you.” 

“I won’t be missed,” I gave a tight smile.

“Sure you will,” he said. I met his gaze briefly. His eyes were intense. “Look at us chatting up a storm. Come out with us, we might end up tolerating each other.”

I gave a little laugh. It was part amusement, part discomfort. He added, more gently than he had ever spoken to me before, “I’d like you to come.”

I looked up to meet his gaze again. I was surprised. I felt a sudden rush of excitement, a powerful urge to prove him wrong about me. I just really wanted him to know I wasn’t what he thought I was. In an impulsive rush of desire to garner his approval, I said to him, “I’ll come.”

He flashed a grin. It would be nice to be out of the apartment anyway. I wouldn’t have to worry about him busting in my door. I thought of this coming weekend, stomach sinking. Would he be back? I then felt another sinking feeling. What if he was one of them? Was I going bar hopping with my rapist? Not Mark or Peter. He had been too tall and too fit. Caleb and Chris were obviously excluded. Ryan was tall and fit, but he was very thin. What about -

He reached out and touched the yellow bell. I glanced up, suddenly realizing I hadn’t even been paying attention. I let out a deep sigh of relief. Thank god we had the same T stop or I would have blown right passed it.

We jumped off and walked up the hill toward my apartment. The air was biting and I buried my hands deep into my pockets. Nothing was said until I got to my street. I pulled my keys from my pocket and said, I’m down this way. He only nodded and followed me down the road. I paused uncomfortably at the door. Was I supposed to offer to let him sleep on my couch? It was pretty late. But that seemed like an awfully weird thing to do. What was the right thing to do under these circumstances? I almost wanted to ask him to come in. If he was in the apartment, I knew I wouldn’t end up with a surprise visit in the middle of the night. 

“See you tomorrow then. 4am comes fast.” He said and started backing up the way we had come, still facing me. 

“You live nearby?” I asked curiously.

“About twenty minutes down that way.” 

“Oh…” I said. I frowned and asked, “why didn’t you just take the B line?”

He stopped retreating and cocked his head. “And let you go home alone at 1am? Or should I have just put you in an Uber when you could barely walk or talk and hope for the best?”

The bite in his voice surprised me. Was he talking about that night? Had I been that bad before leaving the pub? Did he think I let myself get that drunk, that early, with my coworkers? Maybe he had seen something that might give me a clue. I wanted to ask him, god I wanted to ask him what he remembered. Who went with us? Who was there. I couldn’t even remember. So many of us. The table had been huge. But Mark got the drink from the bar. He could have been sitting there. It wasn’t Mark. I knew that. The build didn’t fit. I didn’t ask though. I couldn’t let him know what happened. It would be humiliating.

“Good Night, Orla. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned and walked back the way we came.

“Caleb?” I called after I’d open the office door.

He turned, brow lifted, and walked backwards.

“Thank you. For tonight. You saved my job.”

“Next time, come to me before you’re about to blow the deadline. Believe it or not, you ask me for help, I’ll give it to you. Look forward to having a beer with you next weekend.” He winked

He turned and continued to walk away. I stared after him with a rapidly sinking feeling. Why on earth had I agreed to that and by God how the hell did I get out of it?


End file.
